INDIAN  LEGENDS  OF 
MINNESOTA 


COMPILED  BY 

MRS.  CORDENIO  A.  SEVERANCE 


1  Then  a  darker,  drearier  vision 
Passed  before  me  vague  and  cloudlike  ; 
I  beheld  our  nation  scattered, 
All  forgetful  of  my  council, 
Weakened,  warring  with  each  other: 
Saw  the  remnant  of  our  people 
Sweeping  westward,  wild  and  woful, 
Like  the  cloud  rack  of  a  tempest, 
Like  the  withered  leaves  of  Autumn !  " 


D.    D.    MERRILL    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AND  SAINT  PAUL 


COPYRIGHTED,  1893, 
D.  D.  MERRILL  CO, 


Dedication, 

TO 

MRS.  FRANCIS  B.  CLARKE 

AND 

MR.    DELOS    A.    MONTFORT, 

UNDER   WHOSE    INSPIRATION    AND    THROUGH    WHOSE 

ASSISTANCE    THIS    UNDERTAKING    HAS    BEEN 

MADE    POSSIBLE,    THIS    VOLUME    IS 

RESPECTFULLY   DEDICATED. 


965815 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  LONE  WARPATH.    Elaine  Goodale  Eastman,      .        .  9 

FOND  HEARTS  OF  THE  FOREST, 22 

ANPETUSAPA, 32 

WINONA 48 

THE  PEACEPIPE  QUARRY.    Adelaide  George  Bennett          .  77 

THE  SONG  OF  HIAWATHA.     Henry  W.  Longfellow,        .        .  86 

HIAWATHA'S  WOOING.    Henry  W.  Longfellow,   .        .       .  91 

THE  RIVER  LAKE.    E.  L.  Fales, 95 

SONG  OF  A  NADOWESSEE  CHIEF.    Sir  E.  L.  Bulwer,          .  97 

MAHNUSATIA.    Fannie  L.  Stone,        . 99 

THE  DESCENDING  STAR.    Ida  Sexton  Searls,      -,       «       •  126 

THE  TRAILING  ARBUTUS.    Adelaide  George  Bennett,    .        .  132 

NOPA.    Ida  Sexton  Searls, 136 

THE  SEA  GULL,         . 139 

SWEET  WATER, 162 

DEATH  OF  WINONA.     H.  L.  Gordon,        .        .        .        ...  171 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  MOCCASIN  FLOWER.    Ida  Sexton  Searls,  175 

NOTES,                       i 179 


PREFACE. 


IN  presenting  to  the  public  this  volume  the 
compiler  wishes  to  disown  any  attempt  at  a 
complete  collection  of  Indian  legends;  both  her 
knowledge  of  archaeology,  and  the  time  allowed  for 
the  completion  of  the  work  are  inadequate  to  such 
an  achievement.  She  has  attempted  to  gather  the 
more  noticeable  legends  already  in  verse  in  order 
to  stimulate  interest  in  the  scenery  and  romance 
of  her  State.  From  its  name — Minnesota — to  its 
floral  emblem — the  moccasin  flower — the  State 
everywhere  bears  the  impress  of  former  occupation. 
About  every  lake,  forest,  and  valley  clings  the 
aroma  of  romance  in  the  form  of  name  or  legend 
of  the  vanished  Red  Man. 

The  indistinct  memory  of  his  loves,  wars,  and 
adventures  is  growing  rapidly  fainter,  until  even 
the  story-teller  himself  is  confused  as  to  the  rela 
tion  between  event  and  locality.  It  has  therefore 
seemed  wise  to  link  indissolubly  scene  and  incident, 
that  the  poetry  of  those  who  have  here  lived  and 
loved  may  not  be  completely  displaced  by  the 
prosaic  commerce  of  the  white  man. 

The  compiler  wishes  also  to  express  her  thanks 
to  the  writers  who  have  allowed  their  works  to 


g  PREFACE. 

reappear  in  this  volume  :  To  Rev.  E.  D.  Neill,  D.D., 
for  much  valuable  counsel,  and  to  Houghton, 
Mifflin  &  Co.,  for  permission  to  make  extracts  from 
Hiawatha. 


INDIAN    LEGENDS. 


The  Lone  War-Path. 

A  STORY  OF   SIOI/X  A1TD   BLACKFOOT. 

O'ER  a  vast  prairie  stoops  the  sultry  night ; 
The  moon  in  her  broad  kingdom  wanders  white  ; 
High  hung  in  space,  she  swims  the  murky  blue. 
Low  lies  yon  village  of  the  roaming  Sioux — 
Its  smoke-stained  lodges,  moving  toward  the  west, 
By  conquering  Sleep  invaded  and  possessed. 

All  there,  save  one,  own  his  benign  command  ; 
Their  chief  has  lately  left  this  little  band, 
And  up  the  glittering  path  of  spirits  fled  ; 
Thus  his  young  widow,  not  a  twelvemonth  wed, 
In  yonder  solitary  tent  conceals 
The  aching  hope,  the  trembling  pangs  she  feels. 

How  breathless  is  the  night !     None  saw  it  rise- 
That  black  cloud  stealing  up  the  glassy  skies— 


10  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Till  threatening  murmurs,  loud  and  louder  grown, 

Burst  from  its  swelling  bosom,  and  the  moon 

Slips  into  brief  oblivion,  while  a  glare 

As  of  far,  flickering  torches,  seems  to  bear 

The  challenge  of  the  gods.     Awake,  awake  ! 

Make  ready  for  the  tempest,  ere  it  break  ! 

Drive    tent-pins     deeper,    stretch     the    covering 

tight- 

Hobble  the  ponies,  scattering  in  affright 
Before  the  thunder-peals.     When  all  is  fast, 
Keep  vigil,  then,  till  the  gods1  wrath  be  past  ! 

A  sudden  fury  sweeps  the  somber  plain, 
In  diz&y.sjant  descends  the,  sheeted  rain  ; 
Sharp  lightnings  Veijd'ih.^twain  the  sable  gloom, 


-ikej  the.  unchained  thunders  boom! 
On  iKis  wild  tJhhulti  o.£  the  ailgry  skies 
No  ear  discerns  a  woman's  thrilling  cries  ; 
Yet,  ere  its  sullen  echoes  die  away 
In  caverns  where  the  mocking  spirits  play, 
Faint,  but  rejoicing,  on  a  couch  of  skins, 
A  new-made  mother  lays  her  lusty  twins  ! 

The  wise  men  of  the  tribe  strange  signs  relate  _ 

This  stormy  birth  portends  a  stormy  fate  — 

And  since  the  warring  heavens,  that  should  af 

fright, 

Called  forth  these  daring  boys  on  such  a  night, 
Their  names  must  own  the  event  that  marked  their 

birth— 

The  elder,  "  As-he-walks-he-shakes-the-earth," 
The  younger  twin,  "  Coming-his-voice-is-heard  "  _ 
Thus  saith  the  oracle. 


THE  LONE  WAE-PATH.  11 

This  mighty  word 

Darkens  the  mother's  heart  with  nameless  dread, 
But  casts  no  shadow  on  the  unconscious  head 
Of  either  sturdy  twin.     Their  mutual  play 
With  joyous  echoes  fills  the  livelong  day  ! 
From  helpless  infancy  to  boyhood  grown, 
One  brother  never  had  been  seen  alone, 
Till  sudden  sorrow  bowed  the  mother's  pride — 
The  elder  sickened  and  untimely  died. 

The  gossips  point  to  him  that's  left  alone — 
"  He,  too,  will  die,  for  half  himself  is  gone  !  " 
At  first,  distraught  he  seemed — unlike  a  child  ; 
He  ate  not,  slept  not,  neither  spoke  nor  smiled. 
Then  sought  the  forest — wandered  there  alone 
For  days — his  tender  mother  frantic  grown — 
Till  he  returned  to  her,  and  smiling,  said, 
"  My  spirit  meets  and  talks  with  him  that's  dead  !  " 
Thenceforth  he  seemed  as  one  who,  hand-in-hand, 
Walks  with  a  brother  in  the  spirit  land. 

Among  the  Sioux,  in  those  heroic  days, 
When  certain  valor  gained  the  meed  of  praise, 
The  seasoned  warrior,  old  and  full  of  scars, 
Counted  the  hero  of  a  hundred  wars, 
Yet  craving  higher  honor,  went  alone, 
On  foot,  to  meet  the  enemy,  and  won 
(If  he  returned  victorious),  on  that  day 
A  proud  distinction. 

Fancy  her  dismay, — 
The  mother  of  a  tender  youth  untried, — 
When  he,  the  twin  we  know  of,  seeks  her  side 


12  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

And  murmurs  in  her  ear,  who  loves  him  so, — 
"  Mother,  my  elder  brother  bids  me  go 
On  a  lone  war-path."     Knowing  well  'twere  vain 
To  plead  with  him,  her  tears  must  fall  like  rain 
On  'broidered  moccasins  for  those  dear  feet ; 
His  pouch,  her  choicest  store  of  pounded  meat 
Must  fill  before  the  dawn,  which  sends  him  forth 
On  foot,  alone,  to  pierce  the  savage  north. 

(DAKOTA  WAR  SONG.) 

I  hear  them  coming  who  made  thee  weep  I  * 

Leap  on  thy  father's  steed 

And  urge  him  to  his  utmost  speed, 
And  rush  to  meet  the  ivarlike  host, 
And  meet  them  first,  who  hurt  thee  most. 
Strike  one  among  ten  thousand, 

And  make  but  one  to  bleed  ! 
So  shall  thy  name  be  known, 
Through  all  the  ivorld  be  known, 

If  one  is  made  to  bleed  ! 

ffeh-eh-eh-eh!     Heh ! 

Now  to  the  journey  gallantly  addressed, 

(Still  at  his  twin's  mysterious  behest), 

He  kills  a  buck  with  branching  horns,  and  takes 

The  tongue  and  heart  for  food — then  straightway 

makes 

A  sacrifice  to  that  stern  deity — 
The  thunder-god — who  rules  his  destiny. 
On  a  fair,  level  spot,  encompassed  round 
With  trees,  he  pins  the  carcass  to  the  ground ; 

*  J.  e.,  who  slew  thy  father. 


THE  LONE  WAR-PAT  PI.  13 

Prays  for  success,  his  burning  heart's  desire, — 
Then  sleeps  beside  the  embers  of  his  fire. 

How  wearisome,  how  long  the  painful  days 

That  follow,  as  he  treads  by  unknown  ways 

A  mazy  wilderness,  where  lurk  unseen 

All  perils  challenging  his  eye-sight  keen. 

Yet  on — with  tattered  shoes  and  blistering  feet — 

To  find  the  savage  foe  he  longs  to  meet ! 

At  last,  to  wearied  eyes  that  search  in  vain, 

The  far-off  meeting-place  of  sky  and  plain, 

A  fleck  of  dazzling  whiteness  doth  appear. 

The  youth  exclaims,  "  My  enemy  is  near  !  " 

Toward  that  white  gleam  his  cautious  steps  are  bent, 

Surely  some  roving  Blackfoot's  lonely  tent. 

Nearer  and  nearer  creeps,  with  cat-like  tread, 
The  watchful   Sioux.     Above  his  lowered  head 
The  plumy  grasses  rear  a  swaying  crest ; 
His  sinuous  motion  ripples  the  broad  breast 
Of  this  ripe  prairie,  like  a  playful  wind 
That  leaves  its  shining,  silver  track  behind. 

A  tent  of  skins — that  piercing  eye  saw  true — 
Wondrously  white  and  beautifully  new ; 
In  all  the  colors  known  to  savage  art, 
A  life-size  figure  with  a  blood-red  heart 
Guards  the  low  door.     But  who  shall  more  divine, 
Since  not  a  thread  of  smoke,  nor  sound,  nor  sign 
Of  human  presence  makes  the  story  clear, 
Save  yonder  dappled  ponies  grazing  near  ? 

Crouched  in  deep  grass  the  wily  Indian  lies, 
Ambitious  that  lone  hunter  to  surprise — 


14  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

His  gaze  the  wide  horizon  ranges  low 

For  the  first  glimpse  of  his  returning  foe  ; 

The  painted  lodge  full  many  a  glance  doth  win — • 

Each  moment  may  reveal  who  lurks  within  ! 

At  last  it  moves — that  swinging  oval  door — 
At  last  she  steps  upon  the  prairie  floor, 
Shading  her  dark  eyes  from  the  dazzling  ray — 
A  dusky  princess,  lovelier  than  the  day  ! 
No  matron,  to  her  hidden  foeman's  sight, 
Has  ever  seemed  so  radiantly  bright. 
Her  dress  is  rich,  in  style  unlike  the  Sioux. 
(These  belles  in  doe-skin  have  their  fashions,  too !  ) 

On  either  shoulder  lies  a  jetty  braid ; 
Her  slender  form,  most  delicately  made, 
Her  deep,  black  eyes  and  winsome  features  miss 
Naught  of  proportion.     What  a  conquest  this  ! 
To  such  an  enemy  who  would  not  bow  ? 
Truly  our  warrior  is  a  captive  now ! 
Vainly  she  gazes — turns  and  disappears, 
His  beating  heart  our  youthful  hero  hears  ! 
Rashly  he  thinks  to  follow  and  surprise 
This  charming  stranger — carry  off  the  prize 
Before  her  lord's  return.     By  impulse  led, 
To  the  low  door  he  stoops  his  stately  head, 
Flings  a  last  hurried  glance  to  left  and  right, 
Then  enters,  and  beholds  this  beauty  bright 
Seated  upon  a  pile  of  costly  skins, 
Embroidering  her  hunter's  moccasins  ! 
He  stands  abashed — she  glances  up  to  greet 
His  hasty  entrance  with  a  smile  so  sweet, 
Then  drops  her  lashes  with  such  coquetry. 
Amazed,  he  thinks,  "  No  mortal  woman  she, 


THE  LONE  WAR-PATH.  15 

Who  does  not  fear  a  stranger  entering  so  ! 
Rather  some  teasing  fairy,  or  a  doe 
In  woman's  form." 
Abruptly  he  exclaims 

"  What  are  you— a  Dakota?  "     As  he  names 
That  warlike  tribe,  at  last  she  starts,  and  shakes 
Her  head ;  then  with  her  slender  fingers  makes, 
Slowly,  the  signs  all  tribes  of  Indians  know — 
"  I  do  not  speak  your  language." 

"  Is  it  so  ? 

Where  is  your  husband?  "  asks  our  hero  young, 
In  this  same  silent,  yet  most  graphic  tongue. 
"  I  am  the  daughter  of  a  Blackfoot  chief, 
Whose  home  is  three  days'  journey  north.    In  brief, 
My  brother  is  a  hunter.     I  am  here 
To  keep  his  lodge,  while  he  pursues  the  deer." 
"  Then  I  will  leave  you,"  he  replies,  "  and  when 
Your  brother  comes,  I  shall  return  again !  " 
Thus  saying,  takes  his  leave ;  but,  ere  he  goes, 
One  longing,  lingering,  backward  glance  lie  throws, 
Which  tells  the  maid  how  straight  her  arrow  sped 
To  pierce  the  heart  of  him  she  else  must  dread. 

(DAKOTA  LOVE  SONG.) 

My  heart  is  heavy — my  heart  is  sore — 
I  heard  you  were  going  away  ! 
I  wept  all  night — I  wept  all  day — 
I  wept  till  I  could  weep  no  more 

When  I  heard  you  were  going  away 

Far,  far  away  ! 

0  my  heart  !   0  my  poor  heart ! 
Heh-eh-eh-eh  !     Ho-o-o  ! 


1 6  INDIA  N  LEGENDS. 

Concealing  in  the  grass  his  eagle  plumes, 
The  patient  Sioux  his  lonely  watch  resumes. 
The  reddening  sun  is  low,  when,  far  away, 
He  sees  a  moving  speck.     With  its  last  ray 
A  handsome  youth  dismounts  before  the  door. 
His  sister,  as  the  custom  was  of  yore, 
Removes  the  body  of  the  doe  with  speed, 
Unsaddles,  waters,  pickets  out  his  steed, 
Leaving  the  wearied  hunter  to  repose. 
A  film  of  smoke,  dissolving  as  it  goes, 
Curls  upward  from  the  Blackfoot's  lodge. 

At  last, 

The  youthful  pair  have  ended  their  repast, 
And  reappear  without,  to  taste  the  cool 
Of  evening.     All  their  sportive  converse,  full 
Of  meaning  gestures,  doth  right  well  supply 
Its  story  to  their  unseen  watcher's  eye, 
Who  through  the  night  his  tireless  vigil  keeps, 
While,  wrapt  in  dreams,  the  unconscious  Blackfoot 
sleeps. 


At  earliest  dawn,  in  the  chill  morning  gray, 
Again  the  youthful  hunter  rides  away  ; 
And,  when  the  sun  mounts  half  way  up  the  sky, 
Her  lover  meets  the  Blackfoot  maiden's  eye. 
Archly  she  greets  him—"  Laggard  !  why  so  late  et 
He  whom  you  seek  is  gone— he  could  not  wait ! 
"  But  you — you  told  him  not,"  the  youth  replies, 
"  Of  my  first  visit !  "     In  each  other's  eyes 
They  look  and  laugh  ;  and  in  that  laughter  free 
Dissolves  the  ancient,  tribal  enmity ! 


9 


THE  LONE-WAEPATH.  17 

The  wooing  of  an  Indian  is  but  brief. 
He  tells  his  tale,  "  My  father  was  a  chief — 
These  eighteen  years  in  yonder  heaven  he  dwells." 
The  maiden's  heart  with  awe  and  wonder  swells 
On  hearing  that  mysterious  name  and  birth 
Which  mark  him  as  a  being  scarce  of  earth. 
Then,  too,  his  gallant  height  and  handsome  face, 
Equipment  strange,  and  bearing  full  of  grace 
Ensnare  her  fancy. 

When  the  bold  demand 

Comes  from  this  hero  for  her  heart  and  hand, 
In  blush  and  smile  her  answer  may  be  guessed ; 
Yet,  womanlike,  she  puts  him  to  the  test ! 
"  Ere  I  consent,  you  must  return  with  me 
Unto  my  father's  lodge.     And  first — but  see 
This  raw-hide  trunk.     I  pray  you,  creep  inside— 
(All  this  by  signs)  ;  "  then  you  can  safely  hide  I 
I  dread  my  brother's  anger,  when  he  hears 
Our  foeman  asks  me  for  a  wife." 

Such  fears 

(Prettily  figured,  it  may  be),  win  with  ease 
The  youth's  consent  to  any  scheme  you  please ; 
Danger,  discomfort,  ridicule — all  three 
This  gallant  wooer  scorns,  and  smilingly 
Consents  to  crowd  his  noble  length  of  limb 
Within  the  narrow  space  allotted  him. 

Captive  he  lies,  and,  all  defenseless,  hears 
The  brother's  late  return.     His  jealous  ears 
Miss  no  least  accent  in  the  voice  of  each, 
Yet  glean  so  little  from  their  foreign  speech 

2 


18  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

That,  spite  of  passion   (knowing  woman's  art), 
A  spasm  of  dread  contracts  the  hero's  heart. 
Suppose,  while  thus  in  helpless  case  he  lay, 
The  maid  his  place  of  hiding  should  betray ! 
Clutching  with  iron  grasp  his  trusty  gun, 
Scarce  breathing,  he  awaits  the  morrow's  sun. 
Meanwhile,  she  prattles  of  adventures  gay — 
Tells  how  a  handsome  stranger  called  that  day, 
Describes  his  splendid  dress, — the  arms  he  bore, 
Such  as  no  Blackfoot  ever  saw  before  ; 
But  not  a  word  her  cunning  lips  let  fall 
Of  love  and  courtship  as  the  sum  of  all ! 

At  daybreak  forth  again  the  hunter  fares, 
But  with  his  artful  sister  first  prepares 
A  fresh  surprise.     When  scarcely  out  of  sight, 
She  hastens  to  relieve  her  captive  knight ; 
And  while  he  gladly  tastes  the  savory  fare 
Which  presently  her  willing  hands  prepare, 
Stretches  his  cramped  limbs  to  the  grateful  sun, 
And  drinks  the  favoring  smiles  so  hardly  won, 
A  sudden  shadow  falls  athwart  his  feet — 
At  last  the  war-like  Sioux  and  Blackfoot  meet. 


Surely  the  boy  his  sister's  secret  guessed, 
Since  only  kindness  dwells  within  his  breast 
Toward  his  ancestral  foe.     By  friendly  signs, 
Each  comely  youth  the  other's  thought  divines  ; 
Then  suddenly  exclaims  the  dauntless  Sioux, 
"  Listen,  my  friend  !  I  must  return  with  you 
To  ask  and  win  this  maiden  for  my  wife  !  " 
"  Return  with  us !  not  if  you  prize  your  life — " 


THE  LONE  WAR-PATH.  19 

The  startled  Blackf oot  answers.  "  You  must  know 

That  all  our  tribe  regard  you  as  a  foe  ; 

My  sister's  suitors  are  as  many  now 

As  yonder  leaves  that  twinkle  on  the  bough. 

Should  a  Dakota  venture  such  a  plea, 

Our  jealous  youth  would  slay  him  instantly !  " 

The  youthful  warrior  merely  smiles,  and  lays 
His  hand  upon  his  gun,  as  one  who  says 
"  I  can  defend  myself  !  "  "  Do  you  so  prize 
This  thing  ?  "  demands  the  other  in  surprise. 
"  Set  up  a  mark,  and  you  shall  shortly  see 
What  sort  of  weapon  'tis  I  bear  with  me  !  " 
"Take  my  white  pony!"  "No,"  his  friend  replies, 
"  Set  up  a  willow  wand." 

The  bullet  flies 

Straight  to  its  mark,  and  cleaves  the  target  quite, 
While  youth  and  maiden,  starting  in  affright, 
Believe  some  heavenly  wight  this  deed  hath  done — 
Doubtless  the  thunder's  veritable  son ! 
Convinced  at  last,  the  Blackfoot  yields  assent, 
And  leads  the  stranger  to  his  father's  tent. 

On  the  third  evening,  as  the  shadows  fall, 
The  hospitable  chief  receives  them  all 
In  his  great  lodge,  and  listens  to  their  tale 
Of  the  brave  Sioux,  whose  weapon  cannot  fail, 
But,  like  the  thunder,  with  mysterious  roar, 
Strikes  enemies  unseen.     Well  pleased  before 
With  this  fair  stranger-youth's  ingenuous  face, 
He  bids  him  welcome  with  a  courtly  grace, 
And  on  the  morn  proclaims  to  all  his  band 
This  warrior  shall  receive  his  daughter's  hand. 


20  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

The  fiery  Blackfeet,  when  this  word  they  know, 
Dart  glances  of  dire  hatred  at  their  foe  ; 
But,  hold !  the  criers  once  again  appear — 
"  This  foreign  bridegroom  hath  a  magic  here  ! 
Weapon  like  his  no  Blackfoot  ever  saw ! 
Bring  forth  a  mark  and -then  prepare  with  awe 
To  witness  its  destruction  !  " 

Scofnngly 

Each  brave  presents  his  finest  horse,  while  he 
Accepts  of  one,  and  fires  before  them  all. 
Ah,  pity  !  see  the  noble  creature  fall ! 
Hear  its  death-scream ! 

Some  trembled,  others  fled, 
But  all  declared  so  fair  a  maid  should  wed 
No  less  a  brave  than  this.     All  cavil  ceased ; 
And  now  began  with  joy  the  marriage  feast. 

(LOVE  SONG.) 

One  day  you  will  remember  me — 
One  day — one  day! 

iJ  ij 

You  ivill  at  last  remember  me, 

And  say, 
"  I  was  so  dear  to  her — so  dear  to  her!" 

Yeh-eh-eh-eh —  ,* 
You  will  remember  me 

One  day! 
Yeh-eh-eh-eh —  / 

When  the  young  hero  carried  home  his  bride, 
He  rode  a  pacing  pony  at  her  side  ; 


THE  LONE  WAE-PATH.  21 

Twelve  others  followed — costly  loads  they  bore, 
Rich   robes    and   gifts— the    Blackfoot    maiden's 

dower. 

On  a  lone  war-path  finding  such  a  fate, 
His  triumph  all  the  village  celebrate  ; 
Peace  is  declared  between  the  tribes  ;  and  soon— 
Before  the  waxing  of  another  moon- 
Guns,  knives  and  blankets,  prized  past  all  belief, 
Are  sent  as  presents  to  the  Blackfoot  chief. 

Such  is  the  tale  by  Indian  camp-fires  told — 
The  old,  old  story  that  grows  never  old ! 

ELAINE  GOODALE  EASTMAN. 


Fond  Hearts  of  the  Forest. 

A  LEGEND  OF  FOUNTAIN  CAVE,  NEAK  ST.  PAUL. 

THE  hazy  gloaming  gathers  round, 
The  silence  mellows  every  sound, 
The  gentle  wind,  through  foliage  nigh, 
Begins  to  breathe  its  plaintive  sigh ; 
While  o'er  the  hill  creeps  silver  light, 
Where  calm  and  chaste  the  queen  of  night, 
Awaking  from  her  daily  trance, 
Doth  charm  all  nature  with  her  glance. 
Her  virgin  train  sweeps  down  the  glade, 
Kissing  the  cavern's  mouth  of  shade  ; 
She  smiles  upon  the  singing  brook, 
With  sparkles  filling  every  nook 
That  lurks  about  its  dimpled  face, 
Giving  its  deepest  shadows  grace, 
And  breathing  on  its  grassy  mane 
A  gloss  it  ne'er  can  hope  to  gain 
Beneath  the  sun's  more  kingly  ray. 
Weirdly  the  purling  waters  play 
In  her  embrace  ;  then  break  away 
To  vanish  under  bending  boughs, 
But  giving  voice  to  gurgling  vows 


FOUNTAIN    CAVE. 


FOND  HEARTS  OF  THE  FOREST.  23 

Of  future  tryst,  of  love  again 

Where  meet  the  river  banks  and  glen. 

The  moonlight  vaults  beyond  the  trees 

To  gain  the  river  side,  and  sees 

A  dusky  maiden  sitting  there, 

Who  twines  her  lovely  raven  hair, 

And  frequent  lifts  her  melting  eyes 

To  where  the  flashing  ripple  flies 

Across  the  bosom  of  that  glass 

Where  dancing  stars  nocturnal  pass. 

A  princess  of  the  wildwood  she, 

And  graceful  as  the  deer  that  flee 

Till  stricken  by  the  light-winged  shaft 

So  deadly  from  the  hunter's  craft. 

The  river  sings  beneath  her  feet ; 

It  finds  an  echo  in  the  sweet 

And  tender  thought  that  throbs  behind 

The  starry  curtains  of  her  mind. 

And  when  the  thrills  that  sweep  her  heart 

Now  from  her  tongue  in  music  start, 

The  wavelets  beating  on  the  strand, 

The  murmuring  leaves  by  zephyrs  fanned, 

The  minor  rhythms  that  wake  the  bowers 

Of  this  fair  glen  when  evening  lowers, 

And  warbling  birds'  melodious  throng, 

All  mingle  with  her  low  love  song. 

Her  voice  is  all  that's  wild  and  sweet, 

And  slow  must  be  that  warrior's  feet 

Who  would  not  speed  with  all  his  heart 

To  see  her  red  lips  meet  and  part. 

Love  moves  her  with  his  golden  sway — 

A  young  and  stalwart  Chippewa 

Has  gained  her  heart,  and  kindred  ties 


24  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

And  tribal  feuds  her  love  defies. 
What  cares  she  that  her  people  hate 
And  his  give  back  without  abate  ? 
What  cares  she  that  he  is  not  Sioux  ? 
If  he  but  keep  his  promise  true  ! 
She  sings  an  old  song,  passion-laden 
By  many  a  dead  Dahkota  maiden  : 

0  where  is  my  lodge — my  love  ? 

0  where  is  the  lord  of  my  breast  ? 
Reveal  me,  G-reat  Spirit  above, 

The  arms  where  my  passion  may  rest  ! 

Brave  warriors  are  thick  as  the  leaves 
That  follow  the  wind  in  the  fall ; 

Each  maiden  may  think  she  receives 
The  smile  of  the  noblest  of  all ; 

But  I  know  a  chief  who  can  slay 

The  panther  and  bear  ivith  his  hand, — 

As  warm  and  as  proud  as  the  day, 
And  braver  than  all  in  his  band. 

In  his  sinewy  arms  I  shall  rest, 

And  hear  his  voice  call  me  "  sweet  dove  !  " 
0  he  is  the  lord  of  my  breast ! 

With  him  is  my  lodge  and  my  love  I 

She  stops  !     She  turns  with  sudden  start, 

With  troubled  eyes  and  beating  heart, 

To  the  frowning  bluffs,  where  warlike  cries 

And  sound  of  savage  revel  rise. 

The  warriors  of  her  tribe  are  there, 

All  dancing  in  the  firelight  glare. 


FOND  HEARTS  OF  THE  FOREST.  25 

Their  spears  with  reeking  scalps  are  clad, 

Their  thoughts  are  blood,  their  brains  are  mad ; 

Each  yelling  brave  now  only  knows 

Fierce  hatred  for  his  ancient  foes. 

They  boast  of  all  their  deeds  of  might, 

Of  secret  slaughter,  deadly  fight, 

And  woe  to  him  who  comes  to  meet 

The  lonely  maid,  Wenonah  sweet, 

If  they  his  paddle's  dip  shall  hear 

Or  after  learn  his  presence  near. 

When  their  wild  revel,  to  her  fright, 

Rose  wilder  with  the  fall  of  night, 

She  stole  away  and  gained  this  place 

To  see  again  her  lover's  face. 

She  gazes  on  the  distant  shore, 

But  all  is  quiet  as  before. 

Again  she  sings,  her  flute-like  tones 

So  low  that  were  the  very  stones 

On  which  she  rests  her  feet  possessed 

With  sense  to  hear,  what  she  confessed 

In  tuneful  cadence  would  be  lost 

To  them,  for  well  she  knows  the  cost 

For  him  who  loves  her,  if  her  thought 

Be  told  aloud,  and  so  there  naught 

Breaks  on  the  air  but  melody. 

If  sung  in  words,  her  song  would  be  : 


My  love  is  strong,  my  love  is  brave, 
His  heart  is  warm  and  true  ; 

He  soon  ivill  come  across  the  wave 
And  bear  me  in  his  light  canoe, 

To  be  his  queen  and  slave. 


26  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

To  me  he  bowed  his  eagle  plume, 

He  tamed  his  eagle  eye, 
And  vowed  his  love  would  life  consume 

If  I  refused  with  him  to  fly, 
His  teepee  to  illume. 

0  come,  my  chief!    I  watch — I  wait ! 

I  give  up  all  for  thee  ; 
If  thou  wilt  have  an  alien  mate, 

Wenonah  longs  that  one  to  be, 
That  she  may  share  thy  fate. 

Come  quickly,  love,  but  make  no  sound, 

My  people  are  thy  foes, 
If  thou  shouldst  here  by  them  be  found 

A  warrior's  death  thy  life  would  close, 
Thy  soul  be  skyward  bound. 

What  then  ivoidd  poor  Wenonah  do 

If  she  ivere  left  alone  ? 
She  scarce  would  see  the  hand  that  sleiv 

Ere  she  ivould  raise  her  death-chant  tone, 
And  with  thee  perish  too  ! 

She  scans  the  echoing  cliff  once  more, 
Then  turns  to  view  the  farther  shore, 
And  bending  low  she  strives  to  hear 
Some  sound  to  tell  her  he  is  near. 
O'er  all  there  seems  to  fall  a  hush 
As  tender  as  her  cheek's  warm  blush. 
So  firmly  rooted  to  the  spot — 
As  if  she  had  all  things  forgot — 


FOND  HEARTS  OF  THE  FOREST.  27 

She  looks  like  some  wild,  charm-bound  elf, 

As  lifeless  as  the  moon  itself. 

But  no  !  the  parted  lip  and  eye 

Of  flashing  fire  such  thoughts  belie, 

And  weil  and  eloquent  avow 

The  soul  beneath  that  rigid  brow. 

O  virgin  heart !     O  passion  bright ! 

That  fills  a  glance  with  beauty's  light. 

O  Wenijishid,  happy  thou, 

Who  surely  will  not  tarry  now  ! 

A  moment  thus — then  up  she  springs, 

And  now  the  song  she  softly  sings 

Floats  o'er  the  water  from  her  lip 

To  meet  the  constant,  noiseless  dip 

Of  Wenijishid's  paddle  blade. 

How  swift  to  greet  the  faithful  maid 

He  comes !     She  waits,  'tween  joy  and  fear, 

While  on  he  glides,  each  stroke  more  near. 

Love  gives  him  more  than  wonted  strength, 

And  on  the  beach  he  leaps  at  length. 

With  trembling  joy,  with  artless  grace, 

She  springs  into  his  glad  embrace. 

Within  her  brave  young  hero's  arms 

Forgot  are  all  her  past  alarms. 

One  rapturous  kiss  with  quick  impress, — 

His  burning  hands  her  locks  caress, — 

And  then  they  gaze,  at  love's  sweet  will, 

Eye  into  eye  with  answering  thrill ! 

"Wenonah,  darling,  since  we  met, 

Not  once  could  I  that  smile  forget 

Which  told  me  (more  than  words  could  tell) 

The  hopes  that  made  this  bosom  swell 

Were  fair  in  our  great  Spirit's  sight. 


28  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

He,  ere  another  moon's  swift  flight, 
Shall  bid  me  take  thee  to  my  home 
And  joy  in  thee,  no  more  to  roam." 
Her  trustful  voice  is  low  and  clear, 
And  sweetest  music  in  his  ear  : 
"  No  chief  is  braver,  none  more  bold 
Than  he  whose  neck  my  arms  enfold. 
He  dares  the  light  the  moonbeams  make 
And  danger  courts  for  my  poor  sake. 
Hark  !     Wenijishid,  hearest  thou  not 
Those  yells  of  warning  ?     Though  this  spot 
Rests  now  beneath  a  peaceful  spell, 
How  long  'twill  so  we  cannot  tell. 
Thy  heart  is  big,  and  like  a  rock 
Will  meet  the  blood-storm's  awful  shock ; 
But  I  am  weaker — and  I  fear 
For  thee  each  moment  thou  art  here. 
Behold  how  now  the  moonlight  meets 
And  with  a  kiss  each  ripple  greets ; 
Wenonah's  heart,  o'erflowed  with  bliss, 
Is  wholly  thine,  and  thine  her  kiss." 
The  radiance  mingled  with  the  shade — 
The  murmur  low  by  night  winds  made — 
The  rune,  harmonious  and  complete, 
Of  wavelets  in  their  ceaseless  beat— 
The  fragrance  given  of  sleeping  flower — 
The  brooding  hush  that  fits  the  hour,— 
With  this  fair  scene  all  these  are  met 
To  make  the  scene  more  lovely  yet. 
Wenonah's  kiss  would  all  confess, 
It  gives  to  beauty  holiness ; 
The  moments  passing  seem  to  be 
Endowed  with  all  eternity, 


FOND  HEARTS  OF  THE  FOREST.  29 

And  in  this  lonely  spot,  love  found 

Brings  the  whole  universe  in  bound ! 

But,  hark  !  what  sound  the  breezes  bear 

Turning  her  gladness  to  despair  ? 

Wenonah  trembles  like  a  reed, 

With  hunted  look  she  turns  to  plead : 

"  O  Wenijishid,  leave  me,  quick  ! 

For  dangers  gather  round  thee  thick. 

We  are  discover.ed,  and  thy  death 

May  hang  upon  each  wasted  breath. 

Fly  for  thy  life !    Too  late  !  too  late ! 

Together  we  must  meet  our  fate." 

He  smiles,  and  there  with  dauntless  front 

Would  meet  the  coming  f oemen's  brunt ; 

But  she  who  will  not  leave  his  side 

Bears  in  her  hand  his  warrior  pride, 

And  hopes  of  joyous  life  with  her 

Are  sweeter  than  the  battle's  stir. 

His  war-whoop's  taunt  rings  through  the  glen, 

While  answering  come  the  cries  of  ten. 

Wenonah  clasps  his  brawny  arm, 

And  lest  his  love  might  come  to  harm 

He  turns  to  where  his  birchen  boat 

Seems  chafing  to  be  set  afloat ; 

And,  ere  their  foes  have  gained  the  strand, 

The  light  canoe  beneath  his  hand 

Leaps  off  before  a  foaming  track. 

He  flings  a  yell  of  triumph  back, 

And  grimly  smiles  as  on  he  flies 

To  hear  their  disappointed  cries  ; 

Yet  lest  they  may  too  soon  pursue, 

He  urges  on  the  flight  anew. 

He  plies  the  paddle  with  a  will, 


30  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

They  skim  the  waves, — but  swifter  still 

A  vengeful  arrow  cleaves  the  air, 

To  sink  between  his  shoulders  bare. 

The  shock  is  cruel,  and  the  blade 

Falls  from  his  hand ;  his  powers  all  fade 

Like  thought,  and  plunging  on  his  face, 

Deathlike  he  lies.     Now  to  his  place 

Wenonah  springs  ;  with  bloodless  lip, 

With  gleaming  eye  and  nervous  grip, 

She  works  the  paddle  with  a  force 

Of  which  but  love  could  be  the  source. 

Beyond  the  range  of  bow,  she  flings 

The  blade  aside  and  fiercely  brings 

Her  wounded  hero  to  her  breast. 

Now  sadly  called,  now  wildly  pressed, 

He  breathes  at  last  a  feeble  sigh, 

And,  feeling  sure  he  will  not  die, 

She  labors  strongly,  full  of  hope 

And  nerved  with  any  fate  to  cope. 

She  gains  the  shore,  and  stoutly  bears 

Her  chief  through  brush  and  wild  beast  lairs. 

All  through  the  night  she  speeds  her  flight. 

To  where  his  people's  fires  burn  bright. 

When  friendly,  helping  hands  are  found, 

And  she  has  given  him  to  their  care, 

She  sinks  upon  the  leafy  ground, 

Panting  like  a  hunted  hare. 

Her  faithful  powers  have  filled  their  task, 

Their  sacred  trust  no  more  need  ask, 

And  now  the  goal  is  gained,  they  bind 

Oblivion's  charm  around  her  mind. 


FOND  HEARTS  OF  THE  FOREST. 

Young  life  is  pliant,  love  will  give 

A  mighty  motive  still  to  live. 

And  when  he  wakes,  with  deep  surprise 

He  meets  the  dark  and  glorious  eyes 

Of  dear  Wenonah  on  him  bent 

In  passion's  hope  absorbed,  content. 


Since  this  took  place  it  is  not  known 
How  many  changing  moons  have  flown  ; 
Yet  still,  when  Luna's  rapiers  bright 
Pierce  through  the  tenuous  robe  of  Night, 
And  shining  on  the  stilly  shore 
Create  again  that  scene  of  yore, 
Wenonah  and  her  lover  true 
Pass  over  in  their  white  canoe  ; 
Their  spirit  forms  unshadowed  glide 
Across  the  rapid,  glistening  tide. 


Anpetusapa. 

A  LEGEND  OF  ST.  ANTHONY  FALLS. 

'Tis  autumn,  and  the  breezes  lift 

Their  melancholy  tones ; 

'Tis  evening  :  through  each  passing  rift 

The  stars,  like  precious  stones 

In  lustrous  beauty  (clouded  soon), 

Sweet  incense  to  the  sight, 

Attend  their  white-robed  mistress  moon, 

Queen  of  romantic  night. 

Anon,  as  the  cloud  hosts  fly 

Before  the  wind  across  the  sky, 

The  court  of  the  queen  is  suddenly  seen, 

With  its  pomp  sublime  and  array 

Of  sparkling  and  glittering  sheen, 

More  lovely  than  the  light  of  day, 

More  glorious  than  the  twilight  gleam 

That  mingles  with  the  sun's  last  beam 

Where  the  waves  of  ocean  play. 

By  the  river's  bank  a  wandering  band 
Have  reared  their  teepee  walls, 
Here  where  the  warriors  all  may  stand 
And  view  the  mighty  falls. 


ANPETUSAPA.  33 

The  ivory  moon  is  mounting  high, 

The  lodge  fires  flicker  low, 

And  slumbering  forms  are  visible  by 

The  embers'  last  faint  glow, 

When  lightly  steps  a  youthful  brave 

Out  from  the  forest  ways 

Into  the  star-roofed  nave, 

Out  from  the  shadowing  trees 

(Leaves  fluttering  slow  in  the  slow  night  breeze) 

Into  the  broad,  revealing  rays, 

Into  the  silvery  glow. 

With  step  as  buoyant  as  the  air 

He  glides  above  the  glistening  sward ; 

The  largest,  whitest  teepee  there 

Doth  seem  to  center  his  regard, 

For  there  his  unmarked  path  doth  end, 

And  there  his  burning  glances  send 

Their  passionate  lightnings,  wild,  yet  all 

Made  reverent  by  the  spot  on  which  they  fall. 

This  lodge  doth  tower 

Above  the  poles  on  every  hand 

Like  some  strange  chieftain  o'er  his  band. 

Why  comes  he  at  this  hour? 

Hath  dark  revenge  a  purpose  here  ? 

Shall  bloody  strife  appear 

On  such  a  scene  ?     Ah,  no  !   the  power 

That  spurs  him  hath  a  softer  spell ; 

For  here  the  tribe's  most  cherished  flower, 

The  daughter  of  the  chief,  doth  dwell. 

His  deep,  rich  voice  floats  down  the  glade, 
In  soft,  unwonted  tones 
Like  gentle  winds  through  pine-tree  cones  ; 
3 


34  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

He  sings  the  Warrior's  Serenade  ; 
While  at  the  end  of  every  strain — 
With  more  effect  his  cause  to  plead — 
He  plays  a  wild  and  shrill  refrain 
Upon  a  flute  of  rude-cut  reed. 

Lonely  warbling  bird  of  night  ! 

Leave  thy  bough  and  perch  above 
The  silent,  dewy  folds  of  white 

That  screen  my  sleeping  love. 
Drink  the  moonlight  rays  that  fall 

Pure  and  mellow,  like  the  beams 
Of  starry  eyes  beyond  my  call, 

Far  in  the  land  of  dreams. 
Tell  her  I  am  brave  and  strong  ; 
Tell  her  I  have  loved  her  long  ; 

Singing  softly,  like  a  dove, 

Tell  her  all  you  knoiv  of  love 
I  cannot  tell  in  song. 

Tell  her  I  am  waiting  here 
At  the  threshold  of  her  boiver  ; 

Winds  are  lifting  far  and  near 
The  siveets  of  every  flower, 

All  the  stars  are  out  in  state, 
Music  breathes  in  every  stir, 

All  of  nature  seems  to  wait 
For  a  glimpse  of  her. 

Tell  her  I  am  brave  and  strong  ; 

Tell  her  I  have  loved  her  long  ; 
Singing  softly  like  a  dove, 
Tell  her  all  you  know  of  love 

I  cannot  tell  in  song. 


ANPETUSAPA.  35 

Is  it  the  wind  that  swings  apart 

The  deerskin  door  from  the  lodge  away  ? 

Is  it  a  sudden  leap  of  his  heart 

That  makes  too  vivid  fancy  play? 

Or  is  it  a  nut-brown  arm  that  holds 

The  trembling  folds, 

And  are  those  liquid  eyes  that  shine 

Like  diamonds  fine  ? 

Sing  on,  sing  on,  bold  youth, 

And  hope  shall  lead  thee  to  the  truth ! 

• 

She  is  lovelier  than  the  sky, 

Sweeter  than  the  freshest  bud, 
I  can  no  longer  wait  and  sigh 

Here  in  the  moonlight  flood ; 
All  my  heart  is  at  her  feet, 

All  my  strength  at  her  behest ; 

0  sing,  and  bid  her  come  to  greet 
The  one  who  loves  her  best ! 

Tell  her  I  am  brave  and  strong  ; 
Tell  her  I  have  loved  her  long  ; 

Singing  softly,  like  a  dove, 

Tell  her  all  you  know  of  love 

1  cannot  tell  in  song. 

'  His  manly  voice  entreating  calls 
As  softly  as  the  dewdrop  falls. 
He  ceases,  and  the  night  winds  hush 
As  if  they  too  had  waited  long ; 
The  organ  river's  chanting  rush 
Seems  but  an  echo  of  his  song. 
And  shall  he  wait  and  plead  in  vain  ? 
Ah,  no  !  love  is  not  always  pain  ; 


86  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

For  see,  the  folds  are  drawn  aside, 
And  dimly  there  may  be  descried 
A  shadowy  form  of  shadowy  grace, 
That  halts  while  still  in  gloom  arrayed, 
With  eyes  that  light  the  tawny  face 
And  tresses  darker  than  the  shade. 


O  spell  of  song  !     O  power  and  thrill 
Of  love  I     O  dream  that  sways 
The  blood  of  youth,  that  feels  no  chill 
Till  love  betrays  1 

O  hark  I  ye  sprites  that  haunt  this  time,- 

This  quiet  moon-lit  hour, 

When  Cupid  weaves,  in  every  clime, 

His  web  of  subtlest  power, — 

O,  can  ye  hear,  and  not  rejoice, 

The  music  of  a  maiden's  voice  ? 

"  Anpetusapa's  glance  would  meet 
The  night  bird  that  can  sing  so  sweet." 
With  what  a  bounding  stride  he  goes  ! 
With  what  a  light  his  dark  eye  glows ! 
With  what  a  look  he  seeks  to  fire 
Those  gentle  eyes  with  his  desire  ! 

"  O  multiply  what  voice  reveals  ; 
The  bird  can  sing  not  half  it  feels  ! 
Too  deep,  too  deep,  to  tell  in  words, 
And  even  too  sweet  for  song  of  birds, 
Is  passion  like  this  heart  of  mine 
Doth  feel  for  thine  !  " 


ANPETUSAPA.  37 

She  lightly  steps  into  the  light, 

She  gently  lifts  her  gentle  eyes, 

She  flies  not,  though  her  heart  takes  flight 

And  soars  without  disguise. 

"  I  know  thee ;  thou  art  strong  and  tall, 
Thy  fearless  deeds  are  known  to  all. 
O  may  this  eve  be  not  more  fair 
Than  life  to  thee,  is  all  my  prayer." 

His  mighty  sinews,  sternly  trained, 

Are  now  with  manly  grace  restrained, 

And  the  fortunate  touch  of  a  fairy's  wand 

Far  ruder  would  seem  than  the  touch  of  his  hand ; 

And  the  light  of  his  eye  like  a  streamlet  doth  flow 

Where  passion  and  tenderness  mingle  and  flash 

On  the  dancing  ripples,  whose  murmuring  low 

From  his  lips  seem  to  dash 

A  faithful,  harmonious  echo : 

"  Of  happiness  all  my  life  will  tell 

If  thou  in  my  lodge  doth  dwell. 

Oh !  couldst  thou  but  know 

The  new,  the  glad,  the  tender  glow 

That  warms  my  heart,  so  fiercely  brave 

When  breasting  battle's  fiercest  wave — 

Couldst  thou  but  feel  it  pulse  and  bound 

Whene'er  my  ear  is  charmed  to  hear 

Thy  gentle  tongue's  melodious  sound — 

Couldst  thou  but  see  how  these  fond  eyes 

Rejoice  to  look  upon  thy  face 

When  like  a  dream  before  them  rise 

Thy  matchless  form  and  wondrous  grace — 


38  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

How  deeply,  thirstily  they  drink 

Thy  dew-bright  eyes,  whose  flashing  glance 

Doth  like  a  luring  firefly  dance 

(Along  an  island's  shadowy  brink 

Where  rippling  waters,  restless  waters, 

Sing  their  low,  unchanging  song 

Upon  the  pebbles  all  night  long). 

Thou  art  a  flower  whose  smile  hath  made 

A  sunbeam  pierce  the  forest  shade  ; 

Thou  art  a  rose  that  fragrant  grows 

To  beautify  the  darksome  glade 

And  sweeten  every  breeze  that  blows. 

Anpetusapa !  wilt  thou  give 

The  promise  that  shall  make  me  live 

As  I  have  never  lived  before  ? 

I  love  thee,  and  the  powers  divine 

Shall  teach  thy  heart  to  pulse  with  mine, 

And  bless  our  union  evermore 

While  moons  shall  pass  or  starlight  shine." 

The  guardian  bosom  of  her  lover 
Serves  well  her  modest  blush  to  cover ; 
Her  willowy  arms  about  him  twine 
As  closely  as  the  greenwood  vine 
Doth  hang  upon  the  towering  oak, 
That  holds  it  safe  from  every  stroke 
And  proudly  shelters  the  delicate  form 
From  all  the  buffets  of  the  storm. 
The  moon  and  every  heavenly  gem 
Now  seem  to  shine  alone  for  them. 

O  Time  !  why  must  thou  speed  away  ? 
For  knowest  thou  not  that  present  joy 


ANPETUSAPA.  39 

Bears  no  increase  for  such  as  they, 

For  whom  all  change  must  bring  alloy  ? 

And  thou,  young  Love  !  canst  thou  not  make 

A  lonely  Eden  for  their  sake  ? 

'Tis  better  that  but  two  should  find 

Gladness  of  heart  and  peace  of  mind, 

Than  all  the  greater  sum  of  life — 

With  burning  hearts  that  fates  unbind 

And  crowding  thoughts  that  gender  strife. 

But  no,  the  gift  of  life  is  one 

Of  strangest  form,  of  blended  tints 

And  crossing  lines,  with  mingled  hints 

Of  glory  from  an  unseen  sun ; 

And  shades  that  hourly  darker  grow 

For  those  who  seek  that  sun  to  know ; — 

And  they  must  take  the  whole  or  none. 

So  they  must  wake  to  memory 

Of  other  things,  so  they  must  be 

Reminded  of  the  powers  that  hold 

Their  future  lives,  to  rule  and  mold. 

"  Anpetusapa  need  not  name 
The  glory  of  her  father's  fame  ; 
He  is  a  mighty  chief,  and  none 
Too  quickly  will  he  choose  a  son." 

"  O  fear  not,  my  blossom, 

For  he  shall  not  see 
The  flower  of  his  bosom 

Mismated  with  me. 
Where  war-whoops  are  sounding 

Their  blood-stirring  call, 
There  I  shall  go  bounding 


40  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

The  foremost  of  all. 
When  foemen  shall  fly  me 

And  chiefs  call  me  brave, 
He  will  not  deny  me 

The  boon  I  shall  crave." 

"  Yes,  thou  art  brave  for  one  so  young ; 
This  voice  of  mine  thy  feats  hath  sung 
When  from  the  war-path  thou  returned 
On  which  thy  first  renown  was  earned. 
If  my  poor  love  can  make  thy  bliss, 
My  service  give  the  happier  life, 
All  hope  shall  dwell  in  one  kind  kiss 
For  thine  eternal-loving  wife." 

"  O  blessed  promise  !  future  bright ! 
This  feeble  tongue  of  mine  can  never 
Reveal  how  dear  thou  art  to-night, 
HOAV  cherished  thou  shalt  be  forever ! " 


The  chief  approved  the  suitor  bold, 
And  for  rich  goods  his  daughter  sold. 
She  thought  not  of  the  trade,  but  went 
To  her  young  lord  with  true  content, 
And  while  she  dreamed  of  joy  to  come 
Her  heart  was  full,  her  lips  were  dumb ; 
And  day  by  day  her  task  was  wrought, 
Each  hour  with  self-denial  fraught ; 
His  wants  were  met,  his  lodge  was  trim, 
Her  patient  thoughts  were  all  for  him. 
The  powers  divine  did  seem  to  bless 
The  promise  of  his  wild  caress ; 


ANPETUSAPA.  41 

And  so  the  happy  moons  flew  by, 
Till  new  refulgence  filled  her  sky 
When  there  appeared  a  baby  boy, 
Whose  laugh  o'erflowed  her  cup  of  joy ; 
For  this  must  prove,  she  could  but  feel, 
A  bond  between  them  strong  as  steel. 

Alas,  thou  too  confiding  wife, 

What  clouds  were  gathering  o'er  thy  life ! 

For  vanity  alone  will  stay 

With  human  nature  to  the  last; 

Each  happy  day  will  slip  away 

Into  the  valleys  of  the  past, 

Returning  but  a  ghostly  thing 

When  the  spirit  drinks  at  Memory's  spring. 

Why  did  he  vow  to  cherish  ever  ? 
Or  why  allow  his  heart  to  change  ? 
What  maid  was  she  who  came  to  sever 
Thy  love  and  thee  ?     What  magic  strange 
Had  she  to  work  her  strange  endeavor  ? 
What  mind  shall  solve  the  mystery 
Of  loves  that  come  and  loves  that  flee  ? 
Why  should  Anpetusapa  give 
Her  heart's  whole  life,  her  richest  treasure, 
To  one  whose  boasted  flame  could  live 
Through  but  a  dozen  moons'  small  measure  ; 
Whose  passion  was  for  selfish  pleasure  ? 

Yet  so  it  was  ;  another  came 
Her  heart  to  cloud,  her  place  to  claim. 
Her  lodge  became  another's  nest ; 
The  first  wife,  she  was  second  now ; 


42  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

'Neath  custom's  yoke  compelled  to  bow 
And  see  her  rival  fondly  pressed. 
The  death  gloom  settled  on  her  brow, 
Day  brought  no  sun,  the  night  no  rest. 
The  beam  of  sadness  lit  her  eye, 
And  memories  that  could  never  die 
Until  her  body,  void  of  breath, 
Became  the  precious  spoil  of  Death. 
Morn  after  morn  beheld  her  still 
Slow  sinking,  like  a  mountain  rill 
Whose  fountain-head,  once  bubbling  bright, 
Hath  dried  away,  and  left  the  white 
And  pulseless  sand  to  mark  where  long 
Began  the  sparkle  and  the  song. 

One  joy  alone  was  left  to  bring 

The  heart-swept  thrill  of  other  days, 

When  to  her  baby  she  would  sing 

Her  lullaby  of  love  and  praise ; 

And  this,  even  this,  renewed  the  thought 

Of  joyous  hopes  that  came  to  naught. 

Betrayed  by  faith,  yet  faithful  to  the  last, 

She  murmured  not ;  but  patiently  she  passed 

Each  day  in  kindly  service,  given 

As  if  her  heart  were  all  unriven, 

Until  at  length  heroic  strength 

Could  bear  no  more. 

Upon  the  shore 

Of  wild  Messipi's  plunging  flood, 
Where  they  were  camped  so  long  before, 
They  camped  again ;  again  their  blood 
Marched  to  the  music  of  its  roar. 


ANPETUSAPA.  43 


*  *  * 


'Tis  morning :  every  bird  its  matin  sings 

And  beats  the  air  with  throbbing  wings, 

The  air  so  sweet  and  quick ;  the  glistening  dew 

Hangs  crystal  beauty  on  all  verdant  things, — 

Each  trembling  drop  reflecting  true 

The  overspread,  unclouded  blue  ; 

While  from  the  east  the  cohorts  of  the  sun 

With  dazzling  spears  begin  to  strew 

The  morning  vapors,  damp  and  dun, 

Whose  melting  ranks  are  closed  anew 

To  vanish  where  the  rapid  waters  run. 

Anpetusapa  hides  her  woe 
Until  her  husband  and  her  foe 
Have  left  the  lodge  and  gone  from  sight. 
Then  with  a  tearless  eye  and  bright, 
She  gazes  madly  round  the  place 
Where  every  comfort  bears  the  trace 
Of  wifely  labor  wrought  with  pain, 
Of  woman's  love  that  lives  in  vain. 
Here  moccasins  lie  with  bead-work  gay ; 
Here  on  the  wall  the  breezes  sway 
The  music-breathing  flute, 
Whose  lips  are  dry  and  mute, 
While  she  who  once  inspired  its  tone 
Now  sits  despairing  and  alone. 
The  very  curls  of  smoke  that  rise 
And  mingle  with  the  morning  skies, 
Are  tokens  of  the  duties  done 
Beneath  the  red  eye  of  the  rising  sun. 
Awhile  she  sits  in  cruel  thought, 


44  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Till,  with  her  anguish  overwrought, 
She  flies  to  him  who  sweetly  bears 
The  image  of  her  faithless  god, 
And  on  each  infant  feature  wears 
The  smiling  hopes  on  which  he  trod. 
Convulsively  she  clasps  her  child, 
Whose  love,  alone  left  undefiled, 
Is  not  enough  to  nerve  her  soul 
Beneath  its  crushing  weight  of  dole. 

She  listens  to  the  roaring  water, 
Whose  voice  she  heard  in  music  grand 
When  she  was  but  the  old  chiefs  daughter, 
When  love  such  wondrous  fortunes  planned ; 
And  ruthless  phantoms  of  the  past 
Across  her  mind  are  flitting  fast, 
Each  with  a  keen,  envenomed  dart 
That  poisons  brain  and  tortures  heart. 
With  breath  too  quick  to  lift  a  sigh, 
With  marble  firmness  on  her  brow, 
With  glassy  wildness  in  her  eye, 
She  seeks  the  river's  margin  now. 
She  springs  into  a  birch  canoe, 
All  beaded  with  the  morning  dew, 
And  clasping  close  her  mother's  pride, 
Soon  gains  the  middle  of  the  tide. 

O  hark !  thou  selfish  one  who  gave 
Embrace  more  treacherous  than  the  wave  : 
Does  not  her  song  which  mounts  the  air 
Reproach  thee  with  its  grand  despair  ? 
Why  dost  thou  hurry  to  the  river  ? 
Why  dost  thou  call,  why  dost  thou  shiver, 


ANPETUSAPA.  45 

While  she  whom  thou  hast  driven  away 
Is  bold  amidst  the  chilly  spray  ? 
What  good  is  all  thy  vain  remorse  ? 
Thinkst  thou  from  jaws  of  death  to  force 
A  sacrifice  so  lightly  thrust 
Upon  the  altar  of  thy  lust  ? 
A  host  like  thee  could  nothing  urge 
To  meet  one  tone  of  her  sad  dirge : 

My  heart  cannot  live  without  loving  ; 

My  heart  cannot  give  up  its  own  ; 
No  more  will  I  linger  with  sorrow, 

But  follow  the  joys  that  have  flown  ; 
With  Death  I  will  rest  me  to-morrow 

On  a  kind,  dreamless  bed  of  stone. 

I  fear  not  the  rush  of  the  water, 

For  me  all  its  terrors  are  vain  ; 
It  cannot  bring  less  than  gladness, 

For  it  banishes  all  my  pain; 
I  will  sink  with  my  burden  of  sadness 

And  mix  with  the  earth  again. 

My  baby,  my  darling,  my  blossom, 

Nor  anguish  nor  falsehood  shall  know; 

Together  we  cleave  the  wild  billow — 
Unfaltering  together  we  go 

To  rest  on  the  same  rocky  pillow, 
To  slumber  and  mingle  below. 


Plunging  on  the  sunlit  stream, 

The  frail  canoe,  with  trembling  leaps, 


46  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Hurries  toward  the  mists  that  gleam 

To  veil  the  awful  steeps. 

What  need  has  she  for  any  veil  ? 

Despairing  eyes  will  never  quail ! 

See,  now  upon  the  glowing  crest, 

Where  clouds  of  spray  beneath  her  lie, 

She  clasps  her  boy  upon  her  breast, 

She  gazes  on  the  cloudless  sky, 

And  in  its  blue  depth  seems  to  see 

Death,  robed  in  peaceful  purity  ; 

Then  down  into  the  boiling  tomb 

That  makes  for  her  the  happiest  doom. 

How  strange  that  peace  should  thus  be  found 

Amid  such  tumult-breathing  sound  ! 

To  leap  from  life  and  light,  and  find 

A  darkness  sweeter  to  the  mind  ! 


Long  shall  the  mists  of  morning  show 

The  spirit  of  her  who  long  ago 

Wrapped  them  round  her  wearily — 

A  victim  of  love  and  treachery. 

Long  shall  her  mournful  death-song  find 

An  echo  in  the  moaning  wind ; 

Long  shall  Dahkota  legend  bind 

That  echo  with  the  roaring  falls, 

The  ancient,  foam-crowned,  giant  falls, 

Whose  voice  so  oft  hath  given 

The  welcome  of  its  watery  halls, 

That  lead  the  soul,  when  the  Great  Spirit  calls, 

To  the  hunting-grounds  of  heaven. 

And  though  a  child  of  the  forest  dark 


ANPETUSAPA.  47 

Weary  of  life  would  here  embark, 

As  to  a  portal  hither  comes, — 

And  yet  who  may  not  pass  this  way 

Into  eternal  joy  and  day, — 

The  water  hides  and  soon  benumbs 

The  sorrow,  and  the  cadence  deep 

Becomes  a  lullaby  to  hush 

The  spirit  to  its  endless  sleep 

Beneath  the  surging  rush, 

Beneath  the  shrouding  spray, 

Where  the  tireless  waters  sweep 

To  their  wild,  unpausing  leap — 

Then  fly  to  the  South  away ! 

The  flood  is  cold,  but  the  heart  is  bold 

When  the  future  that  lives  new  sorrow  gives ; 

And  within  the  chamber  halls 

Of  the  grand  and  solemn  falls 

May  be  found  a  sleep  so  sweet  and  deep 

That  its  darkness  never  palls, 

While  ages  pass  with  silent  creep. 

Time  hath  no  tooth  to  tear 

The  heart  whose  pulse  is  dead, 

And  sorrow  may  live  in  the  air 

But  not  in  the  river-bed  ! 

I  ween  all  peacefully  there 

Is  pillowed  forever  the  head 

Of  a  woman  whose  heart  was  fair, 

Though  her  cheeks  were  dusky  red. 


Winona. 

PART  I. 

WINONA,  1  first-born  daughter,  was  the  name 
Of  a  Dakota  girl  who,  long  ago, 
Dwelt  with  her  people  here  unknown  to  fame. 
Sweet  word,  Winona,  how  my  heart  and  lips 
Cling  to  that  name  (my  mother's  was  the  same 
Ere  her  form  faded  into  death's  eclipse), 
Cling  lovingly,  and  loth  to  let  it  go. 
All  arts  that  unto  savage  life  belong 
She  knew,  made  moccasins,  and  dressed  the  game. 
From  crippling  fashions  free,  her  well-knit  frame 
At  fifteen  summers  was  mature  and  strong. 
She  pitched  the  tipi,  2  dug  the  tipsin  3  roots, 
Gathered  wild  rice  and  store  of  savage  fruits. 
Fearless  and  relf-reliant,  she  could  go 
Across  the  prairie  on  a  starless  night ; 
She  speared  the  fish  while  in  his  wildest  flight, 
And  almost  like  a  warrior  drew  the  bow. 
Yet  she  was  not  all  hardness  :  the  keen  glance, 
Lighting  the  darkness  of  her  eyes,  perchance 
Betrayed  no  softness,  but  her  voice,  that  rose 
O'er  the  weird  circle  of  the  midnight  dance, 
Through  all  the  gamut  ran  of  human  woes, 
48 


MAIDEN  ROCK,    LAKE  PEPIN. 


WINONA.  49 

Passion,  and  joy.     A  woman's  love  she  had 
For  ornament ;  on  gala  days  was  clad 
In  garments  of  the  softest  doeskin  fine, 
With  shells  about  her  neck  ;  moccasins  neat 
Were  drawn,  like  gloves,  upon  her  little  feet, 
Adorned  with  scarlet  quills  of  porcupine. 
Innocent  of  the  niceties  refined 
That  to  the  toilet  her  pale  sisters  bind, 
Yet  much  the  same  beneath  the  outer  rind, 
She  was,  though  all  unskilled  in  bookish  lore, 
A  sound,  sweet  woman  to  the  very  core. 

Winona's  uncle,  and  step-father  too, 
Was  all  the  father  that  she  ever  knew ; 
By  the  Absarakas  4  her  own  was  slain 
Before  her  memory  could  his  face  retain. 
Two  bitter  years  his  widow  mourned  him  dead, 
And  then  his  elder  brother  she  had  wed. 
None  loved  Winona's  uncle ;  he  was  stern 
And  harsh  in  manner,  cold  and  taciturn, 
And  none  might  see,  without  a  secret  fear, 
Those  thin  lips  ever  curling  to  a  sneer. 
And  yet  he  was  of  note  and  influence 
Among  the  chieftains ;  true  he  rarely  lent 
More  than  his  presence  in  the  council  tent, 
And  when  he  rose  to  speak  disdained  pretence 
Of  arts  rhetoric,  but  his  few  words  went 
Straight  and  incisive  to  the  question's  core, 
And  rarely  was  his  counsel  overborne. 
The  Raven  was  the  fitting  name  he  bore; 
And  though  his  winters  well-nigh  reached  three 
score, 

Few  of  his  tribe  excelled  him  in  the  chase. 
4 


50  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

A  warrior  of  renown,  but  never  wore 

The  dancing  eagle  plumes,  and  seemed  to  scorn 

The  vanities  and  follies  of  his  race. 


I  said  the  Raven  was  beloved  by  none ; 

But  no,  among  the  elders  there  was  one 

Who  often  sought  him,  and  the  two  would  walk 

Apart  for  hours,  and  converse  alone. 

The  gossips,  marveling  much  what  this  might  mean, 

Whispered  that  they  at  midnight  had  been  seen 

Far  from  the  village,  wrapped  in  secret  talk. 

They  seemed  in  truth  an  ill-assorted  brace, 

But  Nature  oft  in  Siamese  bond  unites, 

By  some  strange  tie,  the  farthest  opposites. 

Gray  Cloud  was  oily,  plausible,  and  vain, 

A  conjurer  with  subtle  scheming  brain ; 

Too  corpulent  and  clumsy  for  the  chase, 

His  lodge  was  still  provided  with  the  best, 

And  though  sometimes  but  a  half  welcome  guest, 

He  took  his  dish  and  spoon  to  every  feast.5 

Priestcraft  and  leechcraft  were  combined  in  him, 

Two  trades  occult  upon  which  knaves  have  thriven, 

Almost  since  man  from  Paradise  was  driven ; 

Padding  with  pompous  phrases  worn  and  old 

Their  scanty  esoteric  science  dim, 

And  gravely  selling,  at  their  weight  in  gold, 

Placebos  colored  to  their  patients'  whim. 

Man's  noblest  mission  here  too  oft  is  made, 

In  heathen  as  in  Christian  lands,  a  trade. 

Holy  the  task  to  comfort  and  console 

The  tortured  body  and  the  sin-sick  soul, 


WIN  ON  A.  51 

But  pain  and  sorrow,  even  prayer  and  creed, 

Are  turned  too  oft  to  instruments  of  greed. 

The  conjurer  claimed  to  bear  a  mission  high  : 

Mysterious  omens  of  the  earth  and  sky 

He  knew  to  read ;  his  medicine  could  find 

In  time  of  need  the  buffalo,  and  bind 

In  sleep  the  senses  of  the  enemy. 

Perhaps  not  wholly  a  deliberate  cheat, 

And  yet  dissimulation  and  deceit 

Oozed  from  his  form  obese  at  every  pore. 

Skilled  by  long  practice  in  the  priestly  art, 

To  chill  with  superstitious  fear  the  heart, 

And  versed  in  all  the  legendary  lore, 

He     knew     each    herb    and    root    that    healing 

bore ; 

But  lest  his  flock  might  grow  as  wise  as  he, 
Disguised  their  use  with  solemn  mummery. 
When  all  the  village  wrapped  in  slumber  lay, 
His  midnight  incantations  often  fell, 
His  chant  now  weirdly  rose,  now  sank  away, 
As  o'er  some  dying  child  he  cast  his  spell. 
And  sometimes  through  his  frame  strange  tremors 

ran — 

Magnetic  waves,  swept  from  the  unknown  pole 
Linking  the  body  to  the  wavering  soul ; 
And  swifter  came  his  breath,  as  if  to  fan 
The  feeble  life  spark,  and  his  finger  tips 
Were  to  the  brow  of  pain  like  angel  lips. 
No  wonder  if  in  moments  such  as  these 
He  half  believed  in  his  own  deities, 
And  thought  his  sacred  rattle  could  compel 
The     swarming     powers    unseen    to    serve    him 

well. 


62  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 


The  Raven  lay  one  evening  in  his  tent 

With  his  accustomed  crony  at  his  side ; 

Around  their  heads  a  graceful  aureole 

Of  smoke  curled  upward  from  the  scarlet  bowl 

Of  Gray  Cloud's  pipe  with  willow  bark  supplied. 

Winona's  thrifty  mother  came  and  went, 

Her   form    with  household    cares    and    burdens 

bent, 

Fresh  fuel  adds,  and  stirs  the  boiling  pot. 
Meanwhile  the  young  Winona,  half  reclined, 
Plies  her  swift  needle,  that  resource  refined 
For  woman's  leisure,  whatsoe'er  her  lot, 
The  kingly  palace  or  the  savage  cot. 


The  cronies  smoked  without  a  sign  or  word, 

Passing  the  pipe  sedately  to  and  fro; 

Only  a  distant  wail  of  hopeless  woe, 

A  mother  mourning  for  her  child,  was  heard, 

And  Gray  Cloud  moved,  as  though  the  sound  had 

stirred 

Some  dusty  memory  ;  still  that  bitter  wail, 
Rachel's  despairing  cry  without  avail, 
That  beats  the  brazen  firmament  in  vain, 
Since  the  first  mother  wept  o'er  Abel  slain. 
At  length  the  conjurer's  lips  the  silence  broke, 
Softly  at  first  as  to  himself  he  spoke, 
Till  warmed  by  his  own  swarming  fancies'  brood 
He  poured  the  strain  almost  in  numbers  rude. 


m* 


MISSISSIPPI  FLOWS." 


WINONA.  53 

THE      COMBAT      BETWEEN      THE   THUNDER-BIRDS 
AND  THE   WATER-DEMONS. 

Gray  Cloud  shall  not  be  as  other  men, 

Dull  clods  that  move  and  breathe  a  day  or  two, 

Ere  other  clods  shall  bury  them  from  view. 

Tempest  and  sky  have  been  my  home,  and  when 

I  pass  from  earth  I  shall  find  welcome  there. 

Sons  of  the  Thunder-Bird  my  playmates  were, 

Ages  ago  6  (the  tallest  oak  to-day 

In  all  the  land  was  but  a  grass  blade  then). 

Reared  with  such  brethren,  breathing  such  an  air, 

My  spirit  grew  as  tall  and  bold  as  they ; 

We  tossed  the  ball  and  flushed  the  noble  prey 

O'er  happy  plains  from  human  footsteps  far ; 

And  when  our  high  chief's  voice  to  arm  for  war 

Rang  out  in  tones  that  rent  the  morning  sky, 

None  of  the  band  exulted  more  than  I. 

A  god  might  gaze  and  tremble  at  the  sight 

Of  our  array  that  turned  the  day  to  night ; 

With  bow  and  shield  and  flame-tipped  arrows  all, 

Rushing  together  at  our  leader's  call, 

Like   storm   clouds  sweeping  round  a  mountain 

height. 

The  lofty  cliffs  our  warlike  muster  saw, 
Hard  by  the  village  of  great  Wabashaw,7 
Where  through  a  lake  the  Mississippi  flows ; 
Far  o'er  the  dwelling  of  our  ancient  foes, 
The  hated  Water-Demon  8  and  his  sons, 
Cold,  dark  and  deep  the  sluggish  current  runs. 

Up  from  their  caverns  swarming,  when  they  heard 
The  rolling  signal  of  the  Thunder-Bird, 


54  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

The  Water-Demon  and  his  sons  arose, 
And  answered  back  the  challenge  of  their  foes. 
With  horns  tumultuous  clashing  like  a  herd 
Of  warring  elks  that  struggle  for  the  does, 
They  lashed  the  wave  to  clouds  of  spray  and  foam, 
Through  which  their  forms  uncouth,  like  buffaloes 
Seen  dimly  through  a  morning  mist,  did  loom, 
Or  isles  at  twilight  rising  from  the  shore. 

Though  we  were  thirty,  they  at  least  fourscore, 
We  rushed  upon  them,  and  a  midnight  pall 
Over  the  seething  lake  our  pinions  spread, 
'Neath  which  our  gleaming  arrows  thickly  sped, 
As  shooting  stars  that  in  the  rice-moon  fall. 
Rent  by  our  beating  wings  the  cloud-waves  swung 
In  eddies  round  us,  and  our  leader's  roar 
Smote  peal  on  peal,  and  from  their  bases  flung 
The  rocks  that  towered  along  the  trembling  shore. 

A  Thunder-Bird — alas,  my  chosen  friend, 

But  even  so  a  warrior's  life  should  end, — 

A  Thunder-Bird  was  stricken ;  his  bright  beak, 

Cleaving  the  tumult  like  a  lightning  streak, 

Smote  with  a  fiery  hiss  the  watery  plain  ; 

His  upturned  breast,  where  gleamed  one  fleck  of 

red, 

His  sable  wings,  one  moment  wide  outspread, 
Blackened  the  whirlpool  o'er  his  sinking  head. 

The  Water-Demon's  sons  by  scores  were  slain 
By  our  swift  arrows  falling  like  the  rain  ; 
With  yells  of  rage  they  sank  beneath  the  wave 
That  ran  all  redly  now,  but  could  not  save. 


WIN  ON  A.  55 

We  asked  not  mercy,  mercy  never  gave  ; 
Our  flaming  darts  lit  up  the  farthest  cave, 
Fathoms  below  the  reach  of  deepest  line  ; 
Our  cruel  spears,  taller  than  mountain  pine, 
Mingled  their  life  blood  with  the  ruddy  wave. 

The  combat  ceased,  the  Thunder-Birds  had  won. 
The  Water-Demon  with  one  favorite  son 
Fled  from  the  carnage  and  escaped  our  wrath. 
The  vapors,  thinly  curling  from  the  shore, 
Faint  musky  odors  to  our  nostrils  bore. 
The  air  was  stilled,  the  silence  of  the  dead  ;     9 
The  sun,  just  starting  on  his  downward  path, 
A  rosy  mantle  o'er  the  prairie  shed, 
Save  where,  like  vultures,  ominous  and  still, 
We  clustered  close,  on  sullen  wings  outspread ; 
And  sometimes,  with  a  momentary  chill, 
A  giant  shadow  swept  o'er  plain  and  hill,— 
A  Thunder-Bird  careering  overhead, 
Seeking  the  track  by  which  the  foe  had  fled. 

While  thus  we  hovered  motionless,  the  sun 
Adown  the  west  his  punctual  course  had  run, 
When  lo,  two  shining  points  far  up  the  stream 
That  split  the  prairie  with  a  silver  seam,— 
The  fleeing  Water-Demon  and  his  son  ; 
Like  icicles  they  glittered  in  the  beam 
Still  struggling  up  from  the  horizon's  rim. 
His  sleeping  anger  kindled  at  the  sight, 
Our  leader's  eyes  glowed  like  a  flaming  brand. 
Thrilled  by  one  impulse,  all  our  sable  band 
Dove  through  the  gathering  shadows  of  the  night 
On  wings  outshaken  for  a  headlong  flight. 


56  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Anger,  revenge,  but  more  than  all  the  thirst, 

The  glorious  emulation  to  be  first, 

Stung  me  like  fire,  and  filled  each  quivering  plume. 

With  tenfold  speed  our  sharp  beaks  cleft  the  gloom, 

A  swarm  of  arrows  singing  to  the  mark, 

We  hissed  to  pierce  the  foe  ere  yet  'twas  dark. 

Still  up  the  stream  the  Water-Demons  fled, 
Their  bodies  glowed  like  fox-fire  far  ahead ; 
But  every  moment  saw  the  distance  close 
Between  our  thirsty  spear-heads  and  our  foes. 
Louder  the  blast  our  buzzing  pinions  made 
Than  mighty  forest  in  a  whirlwind  swayed ; 
The  giant  cliffs  of  Redwing  speeding  back, 
Like  specters  melting  from  a  cloudy  wrack, 
Melted  from  view  in  our  dissolving  track. 
Kaposia's  village,  clustered  on  the  shore, 
With  sound  of  snapping  poles  and  tipis  riven, 
Vanished  like  swan's-down  by  a  tempest  driven. 
Stung  by  our  flight,  the  keen  air  smote  us  sore 
As  ragged  hailstones ;  on,  still  on,  we  strained, 
And  fast  and  faster  on  the  chase  we  gained, 
But  neck  and  neck  the  fierce  pursuit  remained, 
Till  close  ahead  we  saw  the  rocky  walls 
O'er  which  the  mighty  river  plunging  falls,9 
And  at  their  base  the  Water-Demons  lay  : 
The  panting  chase  at  last  had  turned  to  bay. 
Then  thrilled  my  nerves  with  more  than  mortal 

strength  ; 

A  breath  of  Deity  was  in  the  burst 
That  bore  me  out  a  goodly  lance's  length 
To  meet  the  Water-Demon's  son  accurst. 
His  evil  horn  clanged  hollow  on  my  shield 


WINONA. 


57 


Just  as   my  spear   transfixed   him   through   and 

through ; 

A  moment  towering  o'er  the  foam  he  reeled, 
Then  sank  beneath  the  roaring  falls  from  view. 
A  dying  yell  that  haunts  me  yet  he  gave, 
And  as  he  fell  the  crippled  water  coiled 
About  him  like  a  wounded  snake,  and  boiled, 
Lashing  itself  to  madness  o'er  his  grave. 

We  knew  not  where  the  parent  Demon  fled ; 
None  of  our  spears  might  pierce  his  ancient  mail, 
Welded  with  skill  demoniac  scale  on  scale. 
Some  watery  realm  he  wanders,  and  'tis  said 
That  he  is  changed  and  bears  a  brighter  form, 
And  goodly  sons  again  about  him  swarm  ; 
And  peace,  'tis  but  a  hollow  truce  I  know, 
Now  reigns  between  him  and  his  ancient  foe. 
He  hates  me  still,  and  fain  would  do  me  harm, 
But  neither  man  nor  demon  dares  offend, 
Who  hath  the  cruel  Thunder-Bird  for  friend. 


58  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 


PART  II. 

NATURE  hath  her  elite  in  every  land, 
Sealed  by  her  signet,  felt  although  unseen. 
Winona  'mid  her  fellows  moved  a  queen, 
And  scarce  a  youthful  beau  in  all  the  band 
But  sighed  in  secret  longing  for  her  hand. 
One  only  she  distinguished  o'er  the  rest, 
The  latest  aspirant  for  martial  fame, 
Redstar,  a  youth  whose  coup-stick  like  his  name 
(Till  recently  he  had  been  plain  Chaske)  10 
Was  new,  fresh  plucked  the  feathers  on  his  crest. 
Just  what  the  feats  on  which  he  based  his  claim 
To  warlike  glory  it  were  hard  to  say ; 
He  ne'er  had  seen  more  than  one  trivial  fray, 
But  bold  assurance  sometimes  wins  the  day. 
Winona  gave  him  generous  credit,  too, 
For  all  the  gallant  deeds  he  meant  to  do. 
His  gay,  barbaric  dress,  his  lofty  air 
Enmeshed  her  in  a  sweet  bewildering  snare. 
Transfigured  by  the  light  of  her  own  passion, 
She  saw  Chaske'  in  much  the  usual  fashion 
Of  fairer  maids,  who  love,  or  think  they  do. 
'Tis  not  the  man  they  love,  but  what  he  seems ; 
A  bright  Hyperion,  moving  stately  through 
The  rosy  ether  of  exalted  dreams. 


WINONA.  59 

Alas  !  that  love,  the  purest  and  most  real, 
Clusters  forever  round  some  form  ideal ; 
And  martial  things  have  some  strange  necromancy 
.  To  captivate  romantic  maiden  fancy. 
The  very  word  "  Lieutenant "  hath  a  charm, 
E'en  coupled  with  a  vulgar  face  and  form, 
A  shriveled  heart  and  microscopic  wit, 
Scarce  for  a  coachman  or  a  barber  fit ; 
His  untried  sword,  his  title,  are  to  her 
Better  than  genius,  wealth,  or  high  renown ; 
His  uniform  is  sweeter  than  the  gown 
Of  an  Episcopalian  minister ; 
And  "  dash,"  for  swagger  but  a  synonym, 
Is  knightly  grace  and  chivalry  with  him. 

Unnoted  young  Winona's  passion  grew, 
Chask£  alone  the  tender  secret  knew  ; 
And  he,  too  selfish  love  like  hers  to  know, 
Warmed  by  her  presence  to  a  transient  glow, 
Her  silent  homage  drank  as  'twere  his  due. 
Winona  asked  no  more  though  madly  fond, 
Nor  hardly  dreamed  as  yet  of  closer  bond ; 
But  chance,  or  Providence,  or  iron  Fate 
(Call  it  what  name  you  will),  or  soon  or  late, 
Bends  to  its  purpose  every  human  will, 
And  brings  to  each  its  destined  good  or  ill. 


THE  GROVE. 

O'eiiooking  Minnetonka's  shore, 
A  grove  enchanted  lured  of  yore, 
Lured  to  their  deepest  woe  and  joy, 
A  happy  maiden  and  careless  boy ; 


60  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Lured  their  feet  to  its  inmost  core, 
Where  like  snowy  maidens  the  aspen  trees 
Swayed  and  beckoned  in  the  breeze, 
While  the  prairie  grass,  like  rippling  seas, 
Faintly  murmuring  lulling  hymns, 
Rippled  about  their  gleaming  limbs. 

There  is  no  such  charm  in  a  garden-close, 

However  fair  its  bower  and  rose, 

As  a  place  where  the  wild  and  free  rejoice. 

Nor  doth  the  storied  and  ivied  arch 

Woo  the  heart  with  half  so  sweet  a  voice 

As  the  bowering  arms  of  the  wild-wood  larch, 

Where  the  clematis  and  wild  woodbine 

Festoon  the  flowering  eglantine  ; 

Where  in  every  flower,  shrub,  and  tree 

Is  heard  the  hum  of  the  honey-bee, 

And  the  linden  blossoms  are  softly  stirred, 

As  the  fanning  wings  of  the  humming-bird 

Scatter  a  perfume  of  pollen  dust, 

That  mounts  to  the  kindling  soul  like  must ; 

Where  the  turtles  each  spring  their  loves  renew — 

The  old,  old  story,  "  coo-roo,  coo-roo," 

Mingles  with  the  wooing  note 

That  bubbles  from  the  song-bird's  throat ; 

Where  on  waves  of  rosy  light  at  play, 

Mingle  a  thousand  airy  minions, 

And  drifting  as  011  a  golden  bay, 

The  butterfly  with  his  petal  pinions, 

From  isle  to  isle  of  his  fair  dominions 

Floats  with  the  languid  tides  away ; 

Where  the  squirrel  and  rabbit  shyly  mate, 

And  none  so  timid  but  finds  her  fate ; 


WINONA.  61 

The  meek  hen-robin  upon  the  nest 
Thrills  to  her  lover's  flaming  breast. 
Youth,  Love,  and  Life,  'mid  scenes  like  this, 
Go  to  the  same  sweet  tune  of  bliss  ; 
E'en  the  flaming  flowers  of  passion  seem 
Pure  as  the  lily  buds  that  dream 
On  the  bosom  of  a  mountain  stream. 

Such  was  the  grove  that  lured  of  yore, 

O'erlooking  Minnetonka's  shore, 

Lured  to  their  deepest  woe  and  joy 

A  happy  maiden  and  careless  boy, — 

Lured  their  feet  to  its  inmost  core  ; 

Where  still  mysterious  shadows  slept, 

While  the  plenilune  from  her  path  above 

With  liquid  amber  bathed  the  grove, 

That  through  the  tree-tops  trickling  crept, 

And  every  tender  alley  swept. 

The  happy  maiden  and  careless  boy, 

Caught  for  a  moment  their  deepest  joy, 

And  the  iris  hues  of  Youth  and  Love, 

A  tender  glamour  about  them  wove ; 

But  the  trembling  shadows  the  aspens  cast 

From  the  maiden's  spirit  never  passed  ; 

And  the  nectar  was  poisoned  that  thrilled  and  filled, 

From  every  treacherous  leaf  distilled, 

Her  veins  that  night  with  a  strange  alloy. 

Swift  came  the  hour  that  maid  and  boy  must  part; 
A  glow  unwonted,  tinged  with  dusky  red 
Winona's  conscious  face  as  home  she  sped ; 
And  to  the  song  exultant  in  her  heart, 
Beat  her  light  moccasins  with  rhythmic  tread. 


62  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

But  at  the  summit  of  a  little  hill, 

Along  whose  base  the  village  lay  outspread, 

A  sudden  sense  of  some  impending  ill 

Smote  the  sweet  fever  in  her  veins  with  chill. 

The  lake  she  skirted,  on  whose  mailed  breast 

Rode  like  a  shield  the  moon  from  out  the  west, 

She  neared  her  lodge,  but  there  her  quick  eye 

caught 

The  voice  of  Gray  Cloud,  and  her  steps  were  stayed, 
For  over  her  of  late  an  icy  fear 
Brooded  with  vulture  wings  when  he  was  near. 

She  knew  not  why,  her  eye  he  never  sought, 
Nor  deigned  to  speak,  and  yet  she  felt  dismayed 
At  thought  of  him,  as  the  mimosa's  leaf 
Before  the  fingers  touch  it  shrinks  with  dread. 
She  paused  a  moment,  then  with  furtive  tread 
Close  to  the  tipi  glided  like  a  thief ; 
With  lips  apart,  and  eager  bended  head, 
She  listened  there  to  what  the  conjurer  said. 

His  voice,  low,  musical,  recounted  o'er 
Strange  tales  of  days  when  other  forms  he  wore : 
How,  far  above  the  highest  airy  plain 
Where  soars  and  sings  the  weird,  fantastic  crane, 
Wafted  like  thistle-down  he  strayed  at  will, 
With  power  almost  supreme  for  good  or  ill, 
Over  all  lands  and  nations  near  and  far, 
Beyond  the  seas,  or  'neath  the  northern  star, 
And  long  had  pondered  where  were  best  to  dwell 
When  he  should  deign  a  human  shape  to  wear. 
"  Whether  to  be  of  them  that  buy  and  sell, 
With  fish-scale  eyes,  and  yellow  corn-silk  hair, 


WINONA.  63 

Or  with  the  stone-men  chase  the  giant  game. 
But  wander  where  you  may,  no  land  can  claim 
A  sky  so  fair  as  ours ;  the  sun  each  day 
Circles  the  earth  with  glaring  eye,  but  sees 
No  lakes  or  plains  so  beautiful  as  these ; 
Nor  e'er  hath  trod  or  shall  upon  the  earth 
A  race  like  ours  of  true  Dakota  birth. 
Our  chiefs  and  sages,  who  so  wise  as  they 
To  counsel  or  to  lead  in  peace  or  war, 
And  heal  the  sick  by  deep  mysterious  law. 
Our  beauteous  warriors,  lithe  of  limb  and  strong, 
Fierce  to  avenge  their  own  and  others'  wrong, 
What  gasping  terror  smites  their  battle  song 
When,   night-birds  gathering   near   the   dawn  of 

day, 

Or  wolves  in  chorus  ravening  for  the  prey, 
They  burst  upon  the  sleeping  Chippeway  ;  n 
Their  women  wail  whose  hated  fingers  dare 
To  reap  the  harvest  of  our  midnight  hair ; 
Swifter  than  eagles,  as  a  panther  fleet, 
A  hungry  panther  seeking  for  his  meat, 
So  swift  and  noiseless  their  avenging  feet. 


Dakota  matrons  truest  are  and  best, 
Dakota  maidens  too  are  loveliest." 

He  ceased,  and  soon,  departing  through  the  night, 
She  watched  his  burly  form  till  out  of  sight. 
And  then  the  Raven  spoke  in  whispers  low : 
"  Gray  Cloud  demands  our  daughter's  hand,  and 

she 
Unto  his  tipi  very  soon  must  go." 


64  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Winona's  mother  sought  to  make  reply, 

But  something  checked  her  in  his  tone  or  eye. 

Again  the  Raven  spoke,  imperiously  : 

"  Winona  is  of  proper  age  to  wed  ; 

Her  suitor  suits  me,  let  no  more  be  said." 

Winona  heard  no  more  ;  a  rising  wave 

Of  mingled  indignation,  fear,  and  shame 

Like  a  resistless  tempest  shook  her  frame, 

The  earth  swam  round  her,  and  her  senses  reeled  ; 

Better  for  her  a  thousand  times  the  grave 

Than  life  in  Gray  Cloud's  tent,  but  what  could  she 

Against  the  stern,  implacable  decree 

Of  one  whose  will  was  never  known  to  yield  ? 

Winona  fled,  scarce  knowing  where  or  how ; 
Fled  like  a  phantom  through  the  moonlight  cool, 
Until  she  stood  upon  the  rocky  brow 
That  overlooked  a  deep  sequestered  pool, 
Where  slumbering  in  a  grove-encircled  bay 
Lake  Minnetonka's  purest  waters  lay. 
Unto  the  brink  she  rushed,  but  faltered  there — 
Life  to  the  young  is  sweet ;  in  vain  her  eye 
Swept  for  a  moment  grove  and  wave  and  sky 
With  mute  appeal.     But  see,  two  white  swans  fair 
Gleamed  from   the   shadows    that    o'erhung  the 

shore, 

Like  moons  emerging  from  a  sable  screen ; 
Swimming  abreast,  what  haughty  king  and  queen, 
With  arching  necks  their  regal  course  they  bore. 
Winona  marveled  at  the  unwonted  sight 
Of  white  swans  swimming  there  at  dead  of  night, 
Her  frenzy  half  beguiling  with  the  scene. 


WINONA.  65 

Unearthly  heralds  sure,  for  in  their  wake 
What  ruddy  furrows  seamed  the  placid  lake. 
Almost  beneath  her  feet  they  came,  so  near 
She  might  have  tossed  a  pebble  on  their  backs, 
When  lo,  their  long  necks  pierced  the  waters  clear, 
As  down  they  dove,  two  shafts  of  purest  light, 
And  chasing  fast  on  their  descending  tracks, 
A  swarm  of  spirals  luminous  and  white, 
Swirled  to  the  gloom  of  nether  depths  from  sight. 

Then  all  was  still  for  some  few  moments'  space, 

So  smooth  the  pool,  so  vanished  every  trace, 

It  seemed  that  surely  the  fantastic  pair 

Had  been  but  snowy  phantoms  passing  there. 

Winona  hardly  hoped  to  see  them  rise, 

But  while  she  gazed  with  half-expectant  eyes, 

The  waters  strangely  quivered  in  a  place 

About  the  bigness  of  a  tipi's  space, 

Where  weirdly  lighting  up  the  hollow  wave 

Beat  a  deep-glowing  heart,  whose  pulsing  ray 

Now  faded  to  a  rosy  flush  away, 

Now  filled  with  fiery  glare  the  farthest  cave. 

A  shapeless  bulk  arose,  then,  taking  form, 

Bloomed  forth  upon  the  bosom  of  the  lake 

A  crystal  rose,  or  hillock  mammiform, 

And  round  its  base  the  curling  foam  did  break 

As  round  a  sunny  islet  in  a  storm ; 

And  on  it  poised  a  swiftly  changing  form, 

With  filmy  mantle  falling  musical, 

And  colors  of  the  floating  bubble's  ball, 

Fair  and  elusive  as  the  sprites  that  play, 

Bright  children  of  the  sun-illumined  spray, 

'Mid  rainbows  of  a  mountain  waterfall. 
5 


66  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Then  mingling  with  the  falling  waters  came 
In  whispers  sibilant  Winona's  name  ; 
So  indistinct  and  low  that  voice  intense, 
That  she,  half  frightened,  cowering  in  the  grass 
In  much  bewilderment  at  what  did  pass, 
Till  thrice  repeated  noted  not  its  sense. 

She  rose,  and  on  the  very  brink  defined, 
Against  the  sky  in  silhouette  outlined, 
Erect  before  the  Water-Demon  stood. 
Again  those  accents  weird  her  wonder  stirred, 
And  this  is  what  the  listening  maiden  heard : 
"  Thy  fate,  Winona,  hangs  on  thine  own  choice 
To  scorn  or  heed  the  Water-Demon's  voice. 
Gone  are  thy  pleasant  days  of  maidenhood, 
And  evil  hours  draw  nigh,  but  knowest  thou  not, 
That  what  thou  fleest  is  the  common  lot 
Of  all  thy  sisters  ?     Thou  must  be  the  bride 
Of  one  thou  lovest  not,  must  toil  for  him, 
Watch  for  his  coming,  and  endure  his  whim ; 
Must  share  his  tent,  and  lying  at  his  side 
Weep  for  another  till  thine  eyes  grow  dim. 
And  he,  so  fondly  loved,  will  pass  thee  by 
Indifferent  with  cold  averted  eye  ; 
E'en  he,  whose  wanton  hands  and  hated  arms 
Have  crushed  the  fair  flower  of  thy  maidenhood, 
Will  weary  of  thy  swiftly-fading  charms, 
And  seek  another  when  thy  beauty  wanes. 
Aha,  thou  shudderest ;  in  thy  tense  veins, 
Fierce  and  rebellious,  leaps  the  mingling  blood 
Of  countless  warriors,  high  of  soul  and  brave  ; 
And  would'st  thou  quench  their  spirit  'neath  the 
wave? 


WINONA.  67 

Is  Gray  Cloud's  life  more  dear  to  thee  than  thine  ? 

The  village  sleeps,  unguarded  is  his  tent, 

Thy  knife  is  keen,  and  unto  thee  is  lent 

A  spell  to-night  of  potency  malign. 

Cradled  in  blissful  dreams  alone  he  lies, 

And  he  shall  stray  so  deep  in  sleep's  dominions, 

He  would  not  waken  though  the  rushing  pinions 

Of  his  own  Thunder-Bird  should  shake  the  sky. 

All  freedom-loving  spirits  are  with  thee, 

Strike  hard  and  fear  not  as  thou  would'st  be  free  ; 

Lest  thine  own  hatred  prove  too  weak  a  charm, 

The  Water-Demon's  hate  shall  nerve  thine  arm." 


The  Water-Demon  sank  and  disappeared, 

And  faint  and  fainter  fell  those  accents  weird, 

Until  the  air  was  silent  as  the  grave, 

Still  as  December's  crystal  seal  the  wave. 

Homeward  again  Winona  took  her  way. 

How  changed  in  one  short  hour !  no  longer  now 

The  song-birds  singing  at  her  heart,  but  there 

A  thousand  gnashing  furies  made  their  lair, 

And  urged  her  on  ;  her  nearest  pathway  lay 

Over  a  little  hill,  and  on  its  brow 

A  group  of  trees,  whereof  each  blackened  bough 

Bore  up  to  heaven  as  if  in  protest  mute 

Its  clustering  load  of  ghastly  charnel  fruit, 12 

The  swaddled  forms  of  all  the  village  dead — 

Maid,  lusty  warrior,  and  toothless  hag, 

The  infant  and  the  conjurer  with  his  bag, 

Peacefully  rotting  in  their  airy  bed. 

As  on  a  battle  plain  she  saw  them  lie, 

Fouling  the  fairness  of  the  moonlit  sky ; 


68  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

And  heavily  there  flapped  above  her  head, 

Some  floating  drapery  or  tress  of  hair, 

Loading  with  pestilential  breath  the  air 

That  fanned  her  temples,  or  the  reeking  wing 

Of  unclean  bird  obscenely  hovering; 

And  something  crossed  her  path  that  halting  nigh, 

At  the  intruder  glared  with  evil  eye, 

She  hardly  heeded  passing  swiftly  by. 


Leaving  behind  that  hideous  umbrage  fast, 
What  wraith  escaping  from  its  tenement, 
Winona  through  the  sleeping  village  passed, 
And  pausing  not,  to  Gray  Cloud's  tipi  went, 
Laid  back  the  door,  and  with  a  stealthy  tread, 
Entered  and  softly  crouched  beside  his  head. 
Her  gaze  that  seemed  to  pierce  his  inmost  thought, 
Keen  as  the  ready  knife  her  hand  had  sought, 
And  through  the  open  door  the  slant  moonbeams 
Smiting  the  sleeper's  face  awaked  him  not. 
He  vaguely  muttered  in  his  wandering  dreams 
Of  "medicine,"  and  of  the  Thunder-Bird. 
As  if  to  go,  her  knife  she  half  returned  ; 
Whether  her  woman's  heart  with  pity  stirred, 
Or  superstitious  awe,  she  slightly  turned, 
But  gazing  still,  over  his  features  came 
The  semblance  of  a  smile,  and  his  arms  moved, 
Clasping  in  rosy  dreams  some  form  beloved, 
And  his  lips  moved,  and  though  no   sound  she 

heard, 

She  thought  they  shaped  her  name,  and  a  red  flame 
Leaped  to  her  brain,  and  through  her  vision  passed ; 


WINONA. 


A  raging  demon  seized  and  filled  her  frame, 
And  like  a  lightning  flash  leaped  forth  her  knife : 
That  cold  keen  heart-pang  is  his  last  of  life ; 
The  Water-Demon  is  avenged  at  last. 


70  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 


PART  III. 

SHE  struck  but  once,  no  need  hath  lightning  stroke 
For  second  blow  to  rend  the  heart  of  oak, 
Nor  waited  there  to  see  how  Gray  Cloud  died  ; 
Her  fury  all  in  that  fierce  outburst  spent, 
As  from  a  charnel  cave  she  fled  the  tent ; 
The  wolfish  dog  suspiciously  outside 
Sniffed  at  her  moccasins  but  let  her  pass. 
Her  tipi  soon  she  reached,  distant  no  more 
Than  arrow  from  a  warrior's  bowstring  sent, 
Paused  but  to  wipe  her  knife  upon  the  grass, 
And  found  her  usual  couch  upon  the  floor. 
But  not  to  sleep ;  she  closed  her  eyes  in  vain, 
Shutting  away  the  moonlight  from  her  view  ; 
Darkness    and   moonlight  wore   the   same   dread 

hue, 

Flooding  the  universe  with  crimson  stain. 
She  clasped  her  bosom  with  her  hands  to  still 
The  throbbing  of  her  heart  that  seemed  to  fill 
With  tell-tale  echoes  all  the  air ;  an  owl 
The  secret  with  unearthly  shrieks  confessed, 
And  Gray  Cloud's  dog  sent  forth  a  doleful  howl 
At  intervals  ;  but  worse  than  all  the  rest, 
That  dreadful  drum  still  beating  in  her  breast, 
As  furious  war-drums  in  the  scalp-dance  beat 
To  the  mad  circling  of  delirious  feet. 


THE  GIANT  CLIFFS  OF  RED-WING  SPREADING  BACK. 


WINONA.  71 

Early  next  morning,  as  the  first  faint  rays 

Of  sunlight  through  the  rustling  lindens  played, 

Two  children  sent  to  seek  the  conjurer's  aid, 

Gazed  on  the  sight,  with  horror  and  amaze, 

Of  Gray  Cloud's  lifeless  body  rolled  in  blood. 

Fast  through  the  village  spread  the   news,  and 

stirred 

With  mingled  fear  and  wonder  all  who  heard. 
The  oracles  were  baffled  and  dismayed, 
And  spoke  with  muffled  tones  and  looks  of  dread  : 
•''  Some  envious  foeman  lurking  in  the  wood, 
With  medicine  more  strong  than  his,"  they  said, 
"  Stole  in  last  night  and  gave  the  fatal  wound." 
The  warriors  scoured  the  country  miles  around, 
Seeking  for  sign  or  trail,  but  naught  they  found : 
The  murderer  left  behind  no  clue  or  trace 
More   than   a   vampire's  flight  through  darkling 

space. 

The  Raven  with  a  stoic  calmness  heard 

Of  Gray  Cloud's  death,  nor  showed  by  look  or 

word 

The  wrath  that  to  its  depth  his  being  stirred. 
Winona  heard  the  news  with  false  surprise, 
As  if  just  roused  from  sleep  she  rubbed  her  eyes  ; 
When  she  arose  her  knees  like  aspens  shook, 
But  this  she  quelled  and  forced  a  tranquil  look 
To  feign  the  calmness  that  her  soul  forsook. 
And  when  the  mourning  wail  rose  on  the  air, 
Winona's  voice  was  heard  commingling  there. 
She  gathered  with  the  other  maidens  where, 
On  a  rude  bier,  the  conjurer's  body  lay 
Adorned  and  decked  in  funeral  array. 


72  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

She  flung  a  handful  of  her  sable  hair, 
And  wept  such  tears  above  the  painted  clay 13 
As  weeps  a  youthful  widow,  only  heir, 
Over  the  coffin  of  a  millionaire. 

Moons  waxed  to  fullness  and  to  sickles  waned. 
The  gossips  still  conversed  with  bated  breath. 
The  appalling  mystery  of  Gray  Cloud's  death, 
Wrapped  in  impenetrable  gloom,  remained 
A  blighting  shadow  o'er  the  village  spread. 
But  youthful  spirits  are  invincible, 
Nor  fear  nor  superstition  long  can  quell 
The  bubbling  flow  of  that  perennial  well ; 
And  so  the  youths  and  maidens  soon  regained 
The  wonted  gayety  that  late  had  fled. 
All  save  Winona,  in  whose  face  and  mien, 
Unto  the  careless  eye,  no  change  was  seen ; 
But  one  that  noted  might  sometimes  espy 
A  furtive  fear  that  shot  across  her  eye, 
As  in  a  forest,  'thwart  some  bit  of  blue, 
Darts  a  rare  bird  that  shuns  the  hunter's  view. 
Her  laugh,  though  gay,  a  subtle  change  confessed, 
And  in  her  attitude  a  vague  unrest 
Betrayed  a  world  of  feelings  unexprest. 
A  shade  less  light  her  footsteps  in  the  dance, 
And  sometimes  now  the  Raven's  curious  glance 
Her  soul  with  terrors  new  and  strange  oppressed. 

Grief  shared  is  lighter,  none  had  she  to  share 
Burdens  that  grew  almost  too  great  to  bear, 
For  Redstar  sometimes  seemed  to  look  askance, 
And  sought,  they  said,  to  win  another  breast. 
Winona  feigned  to  laugh,  but  in  her  heart 


WINONA.  73 

The  rumor  rankled  like  a  poisoned  dart. 

Sometimes  she  almost  thought  the  Raven  guessed 

The  guilty  secrets  that  her  thoughts  oppressed, 

And  sought,  whene'er  she  could,  to  shun  his  sight. 

Apart  from  human  kind,  still  more  and  more, 

The  Raven  dwelt,  and  human  speech  forbore. 

And  once  upon  a  wild  tempestuous  night, 

When  all  the  demons  of  the  earth  and  air 

Like  raging  furies  were  embattled  there, 

She,  peering  fearfully,  amid  the  swarm 

Flitting  athwart  the  flashes  of  the  storm, 

By  fitful  gleams  beheld  the  Raven's  form. 

To  her  he  spoke  not  since  the  fateful  night 

His  chosen  comrade  passed  from  human  sight, 

Save  only  once,  forgetting  he  was  by 

And  half  forgetting  too  her  care  and  woes, 

Unto  her  lips  some  idle  jest  arose. 

"  Winona,"  said  the  Raven,  in  a  tone 

Of  stern  reproof  that  on  the  instant  froze 

All  thought  of  mirth,  and  when  she  met  his  eye, 

As  by  a  serpent's  charm  it  fixed  her  own ; 

The  hate  and  anger  of  a  soul  intense 

Were  all  compressed  in  that  remorseless  glance, 

The  coldly  cruel  meaning  of  whose  sense 

Smote  down  the  shield  of  her  false  innocence. 

She  strove  to  wrest  her  eye  from  his  in  vain, 

Held  by  that  gaze  ophidian  like  a  bird, 

As  in  a  trance  she  neither  breathed  nor  stirred. 

And  gazing  thus  an  icy  little  lance, 

Smaller  than  quill  from  wing  of  humming-bird, 

Shot  from  his  eyes,  and  a  keen  stinging  pain 

Sped  through  the  open  windows  of  her  brain. 

Her  senses  failed,  she  sank  upon  the  ground, 


74  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

And  darkness  veiled  her  eyes  ;  she  never  knew 
How  long  this  was,  but  when  she  slowly  grew 
Back  from  death's  counterfeit,  and  looked  around, 
So  little  change  was  there,  that  it  might  seem 
The  scene  had  been  but  a  disordered  dream. 
The  Raven  sat  in  his  accustomed  place, 
Smoking  his  solitary  pipe  ;  his  face, 
A  gloomy  mask  that  none  might  penetrate, 
Betrayed  no  sign  of  anger,  grief,  or  hate  ; 
Absorbed  so  deep  in  thoughts   that  none  might 

share, 

He  noted  not  Winona's  presence  there  ; 
From  his  disdainful  lips  the  thin  blue  smoke 
From  time  to  time  in  little  spirals  broke, 
Floating  like  languid  sneers  upon  the  air, 
And  settling  round  him  in  a  veil  of  blue 
So  sinister  to  her  disordered  view, 
That  she  arose  and  quickly  stole  away. 
She  shunned  him  more  than  ever  from  that  day, 
And  never  more  unmoved  could  she  behold 
That  countenance  inscrutable  and  cold. 

But  Hope  and  Love,  like  Indian  summer's  glow, 
Gilding  the  prairies  ere  December's  snow, 
Lit  with  a  transient  beam  Winona's  eye. 
The  season  for  the  Maidens'  Dance  drew  nigh, 
And  Reds  tar  vowed,  whatever  might  betide, 
To  claim  her  on  the  morrow  as  his  bride. 
What  now  to  her  was  all  the  world  beside  ? 
The  evil  omens  darkening  all  her  sky, 
Malicious  sneers,  her  rival's  envious  eye, 
While  her  false  lover  lingered  at  her  side, 
All  passed  like  thistle-down  unheeded  by. 


WINONA.  75 

The  evening  for  the  dance  arrived  at  last ; 
An  ancient  crier  through  the  village  passed, 
And  summoned  all  the  maidens  to  repair 
To  the  appointed  place,  a  greensward  where, 
Since  last  year  unprofaned  by  human  feet, 
Rustled  the  prairie  grass  and  flowers  sweet. 
None  but  the  true  and  pure  might  enter  there — 
Maidens  whose  souls  unspotted  had  been  kept. 
At  set  of  sun  the  circle  there  was  formed, 
And  thitherward  the  happy  maidens  swarmed. 
The  people  gathered  round  to  view  the  scene  : 
Old  men  in  broidered  robes  that  trailing  swept, 
And  youths  in  all  their  finery  arrayed, 
Dotting  like  tropic  birds  the  prairie  green, 
Their  rival  graces  to  the  throng  displayed. 
Winona  came  the  last,  but  as  she  stept 
Into  the  mystic  ring  one  word,  "  Beware  !  " 
Rang  out  in  such  a  tone  of  high  command 
That  all  was  still,  and  every  look  was  turned 
To  where  the  Raven  stood  ;  his  stern  eye  burned, 
And  like  a  flower  beneath  that  withering  glare 
She  faded  fast.     No  need  that  heavy  hand 
To  lead  Winona  from  the  joyous  band ; 
No  need  those  shameful  words  that  stained  the 

air : 

"  Let  not  the  sacred  circle  be  defiled 
By  one  who,  all  too  easily  beguiled, 
Beneath  her  bosom  bears  a  warrior's  child." 

Winona  swiftly  fleeing,  as  she  passed, 
One  look  upon  her  shrinking  lover  cast 
That  seared  his  coward  heart  for  many  a  day, 
Into  the  deepest  woods  she  took  her  way. 


76  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

The  dance  was  soon  resumed,  and  as  she  fled, 
Like  hollow  laughter  chasing  overhead, 
Pursued  the  music  and  the  maidens'  song. 
Just  as  she  passed  from  sight  an  angry  eye 
Glared  for  a  moment  from  the  western  sky, 
And  flung  one  quivering  shaft  of  dazzling  white, 
With  tenfold  thunder-peal,  adown  the  night. 
Her  mother  followed  her,  and  sought  her  long, 
Calling  and  listening  through  the  falling  dew, 
While  fast  and  furious  still  the  cadence  grew 
Of  the  gay  dance,  whose  distant  music  fell, 
Smiting  the  mother  like  a  funeral  knell. 
High  rode  the  sun  in  heaven  next  day  before 
The  stricken  mother  found  along  the  shore 
The  object  of  her  unremitting  quest. 
The  cooling  wave  whereon  she  lay  at  rest 
Had  stilled  the  tumult  of  Winona's  breast 
Along  that  shapely  ruin's  plastic  grace, 
And  in  the  parting  of  her  braided  hair, 
The  hopeless  mother's  glances  searching  there 
The  Thunder-Bird's  mysterious  mark  might  trace. 

So  died  Winona,  and  let  all  beware, 
For  vengeance  follows  fast  and  will  not  spare, 
Nor  maid,  nor  warrior  that  dares  offend 
Who  hath  the  cruel  Thunder-Bird  for  friend. 


OUTWARD    swell  the  rolling   prairies 

like  the  waves  of  ocean  deep  ; 
Higher  rise  the  crested  billows  rolling  upward  as 

they  sweep 
From  horizon  to  horizon,  and  the  air  grows  pure 

and  free, 

"  On  the  mountains  of  the  prairie,"  on  the  wind 
swept  emerald  sea. 


As  in  olden  time  the  zealots  who  would  build  unto 

their  God, 
Sacred   temples   for   his   worship,  chose  a  "  high 

place,"  and  the  sod 
Of  the  consecrated  mountain  was  made  holy  by 

the  rites 


78  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Of  footsore  and  weary  pilgrims  who  had  sought 

the  sacred  heights, 
So    instinctively   the  red-men,  roaming   o'er  the 

boundless  main, 
Looked  for  their  Manitou  above  the  low  level  of 

the  plain ; 
Sought  and  found  him  on  the  summit  of  the  green 

wave's  swelling  crest 
Rising  upward  like  a  mountain,  in  the  valley  of 

the  West. 

Not  to  him  they  founded  temples,  gilded  fanes  and 

altars  fair ; 
Looking  up,  they  saw  already  Manitou  enthroned 

there 
In  the  fastness  of  the  mountain,  with  his  sphynx- 

like,  stony  face 
Watching  like  a  guardian  spirit,  o'er  the  dusky 

lawless  race 
Who  regarded  not  each  other,  and  their  deadly 

hatred  slaked 
In  the  blood   of  friends  and  foemen,  when  their 

slumbering  ire  was  waked. 

"  Gitche  Manitou,  the  Mighty,"  the  Great  Spirit 

throned  above, 
Was  a  God  of  truth  and  wisdom,  was  a  God  of 

peace  and  love ; 
And  as  God  upon  Mount  Sinai,  stooping  from  his 

heavenly  throne, 
Gave  the  law  unto  his  people,  deeply  graven  into 

stone, 


THE  PEACE-PIPE  QUARRY.  79 

"  Gitche  Manitou,  the  Mighty,"  in  compassion  for 

the  race 
Of  unlettered,  untaught  heathen  who  knew  not 

his  god-like  face 

Save   they  saw  it  in  the  tempest   or  the   light 
ning's  livid  glare, 
Or  in  some  familiar  emblem  they  could  see,  or  feel, 

or  wear, 
Taught  them  peace  and  love  to  kindred,  through 

an  emblem  formed  of  stone, 
Fashioned  in  the  well-known  outlines  of  a  thing 

they  called  their  own. 
In  the  caverns  of  his  store-house,  deeply  sunken  in 

the  ground, 
Lay  the   mystical   red  pipe-stone,  never  yet   by 

sachem  found. 
With  his  strong  right  hand  almighty,  rent  he  now 

the  ground  in  twain, 
Broke  the  red  stone  of  the  quarry,  and,  resounding 

o'er  the  plain, 
Came  this  message  to  the  warriors  : — "  Let  this  be 

to  you  a  sign : 
Make  you  calumets  of  pipe-stone,  pledge  you  peace 

and  love  divine, 
By  the  smoking  of  this  signet.     Let  it  pass  from 

hand  to  hand. 
Cease  you  from  your  wars  and  wrangling,  and  be 

brothers  in  the  land." 

The  Great  Spirit's  words  were  heeded,  and  the 
calumet,  the  pipe 

Which  they  often  smoked  together  in  their  coun 
cils,  was  the  type 


80 


INDIAN  LEGENDS. 


Of  good-will  and  peace  thereafter,  and  upon  the 

quarry's  site, 
Hostile   tribes   and   tongues   and   races   meeting, 

never  meet  to  fight. 

Many  legends  and  traditions  cluster  round  this 
sacred  spot ; 

Many  histories  and  records  deep  with  hidden 
meaning  fraught, 

Have  been  chiseled  on  the  ledges  at  the  ancient 
bowlders'  base, 

Who,  like  strangers  in  the  valley,  drifted  to  a  rest 
ing  place. 


Here,  ere  Manitou  had  given  to  the  tribes  the  pipe 

of  peace, 
Saw  he  mighty  war  and  bloodshed,  saw  the  tribes 

of  men  decrease, 
Until  fleeing  from  destruction,  come  three  maidens 

to  the  rocks — 
The  last  remnant  of  all  women,  hiding  from  the 

fearful  shocks 


THE  PEACE-PIPE  QUARRY. 


81 


Of  the  deadly  fight  and  carnage  which  was  raging 

through  the  air, 
Driven  to  these  three  large  bowlders,  as  a  refuge  in 

despair. 
Now  in  memory  of  the  conflict  and  the  part  the 

bowlders  bore, 
They  are  named  in  weird  tradition,  "  The  Three 

Maidens,"  evermore. 

Here  the  thunder-bird  portentous,  Wakan,  terrible 
in  might, 


Made  his  home  in  aw 
ful  grandeur  on 
the  cliff's^  myste 
rious  height. 

Here  the  flapping  of  his  pinions  brought  the  fierce, 
hot  lightning's  glare, 

Glazing  all  the  fissured  surface  like  enamel  smooth 
and  fair ; 

Melting   all  the  red  rock's  substance  till  a  foot 
print  of  the  bird, 

Plastic  then,  took  form  and  hardened  for  a  witness 
of  the  word. 

6 


N 


o/ 


THE  PEACE-PIPE  QUARRY.  83 

Northward,   just  beyond  the    quarry,   stands  the 

famous  "  Leaping  Rock," 
With  its  proud  head  reared  to  heaven,  with  an  air 

that  seems  to  mock 
And  to  set  at  stern  defiance,  boastful  braves  who 

seek  for  fame, 
And  from  agile  feats  to  gather  for  themselves  an 

envied  name. 
Hither  came  to  try  his  daring,  with  brave  heart  to 

valor  nerved, 
Hopefully  a  young  Sioux  chieftain,  never  from  his 

purpose  swerved, 
Came  in  all  his  youthful  vigor,  with  his  band  of 

stalwart  braves, 
From  the  land  of  the  Dakotas  ;  zealously  his  spirit 

craves 
To  lead  them  all  in  bravery  as  he  oft  before  has 

led, 
And  the  plumes  of  the  war  eagle  proudly  waving 

on  his  head, 
To  wear   in  boastful  triumph   on  the   far-famed 

treacherous  height, 
And  in  his  tribe's  traditions,  thus  his  envied  name 

to  write. 

Fearlessly  he  stands  a  moment  on  the  overhanging 
edge 

Of  the  nearest  cliff's  high  summit,  eyes  the  small 
and  slippery  ledge 

Just  beyond  the  yawning  chasm  which  his  daring 
feet  must  leap ; 

Stands  there  bold  and  free  and  fearless,  taking  in 
ward  at  a  sweep 


84  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

All  the  fearful  odds  and  chances,  the  deep  chasm 

he  must  cross — 
Calculates  with  hope  of  winning,  never  with  a 

fear  of  loss. 
High  above  him  arch   the   heavens ;  deep   below 

him  yawns  the  gulf ; 
In  his  ears  the  cataract  thunders,  and  before  him 

stands  the  rough, 
Towering  rock  with  air  defiant,  standing  mocking, 

beckoning  there. 
With  a  fixed  resolve  and  purpose,  he  leaps  upward 

in  the  air — 
Leaps,  but  not  as   he  had   counted,  for  his  feet 

touch  not  the  goal, 
But  his  body  plunges  downward,  and  the  young 

Sioux  warrior's  soul, 
Rising  upward  through  the  ether,  seeks  the  happy 

hunting  ground 
Just  as  anxious  friends  and  kindred  gather  hastily 

around, 
Dropping  tears  unto  his  memory  and  with  slow  and 

measured  tread, 

Bear  away  the  bold  young  chieftain,  to  the  man 
sions  of  the  dead. 
Fear  the  falls  of  Winnewissa  sweetly  wooing  to 

repose 
With  its  murmurous  plash  of  waters  perfume-laden 

of  the  rose, 
'Neath  the  soil  which  once  his  kindred  claimed  and 

lived  in  until  we 
Rising  eastward  like  a  storm-cloud,  swept  the  land 

from  sea  to  sea. 


THE  PEACE-PIPE  QUARRY. 


85 


Sleepeth  well  the  brave  young  warrior  in  this 
legend-hallowed  ground, 

The  long  sleep  that  knows  no  waking  till  the  com 
mon  trump  shall  sound. 

Still  the  Indian  camp-fires  glimmer  round  the  sacred 
quarry's  edge, 

And  the  calumet,  the  peace-pipe,  is  to  them  a 
friendly  pledge  : 

And  the  doubting  pale-face  dwelling  near  the  blood- 
red  mystic  stone, 

Feels  around  him  peace  and  safety  like  Elijah's 
mantle  thrown. 


•'• 


Long  may  Manitou,  the  mighty,  the  Great  Spirit 

throned  above, 
Smile  upon  his  helpless  children,  fill  their  lives  with 

peace  and  love ; 
And  at  last,  in  the  great  council,  at  the  bidding 

of  his  voice, 
May  they  meet  to  smoke  the  peace-pipe  with  the 

people  of  his  choice. 


The  Song  of  Hiawatha. 


THE  PEACE-PIPE. 


ON   the   Mountains  of   the 
Prairie,1 

On  the-great  Red  Pipe-stone 
Quarry,2 

Gitche  Manito,  the  mighty, 

He  the  Master  of  Life,   de 
scending, 

On  the   red   crags    of  the 
quarry 

Stood  erect,  and   called  the 
nations, 

Called  the  tribes  of  men  to 
gether. 

From  his  footprints  flowed 
a  liver, 

Leaped   into   the    light   of 
morning, 

O'er  the  precipice  plunging 
downward 

Gleamed    like    Ishkoodah, 
the  comet. 

And    the      Spirit,     stooping 
earthward, 


THE  SONG  OF  HIAWATHA.  87 

With  his  linger  on  the  meadow 
Traced  a  winding  pathway  for  it, 
Saying  to  it,  "  Run  in  this  way !  " 

From  the  red  stone  of  the  quarry 
With  his  hand  he  broke  a  fragment, 
Molded  it  into  a  pipe-head, 
Shaped  and  fashioned  it  with  figures  ; 
From  the  margin  of  the  river 
Took  a  long  reed  for  a  pipe-stem, 
With  its  dark  green  leaves  upon  it ; 
Filled  the  pipe  with  bark  of  willow, 
With  the  bark  of  the  red  willow ; 
Breathed  upon  the  neighboring  forest, 
Made  its  great  boughs  chafe  together, 
Till  in  flame  they  burst  and  kindled ; 
And  erect  upon  the  mountains, 
Gitche  Manito,  the  mighty, 
Smoked  the  calumet,  the  Peace-Pipe, 
As  a  signal  to  the  nations. 

And  the  smoke  rose  slowly,  slowly, 
Through  the  tranquil  air  of  morning, 
First  a  single  line  of  darkness, 
Then  a  denser,  bluer  vapor, 
Then  a  snow-white  cloud  unfolding, 
Like  the  tree-tops  of  the  forest, 
Ever  rising,  rising,  rising, 
Till  it  touched  the  top  of  heaven, 
Till  it  broke  against  the  heaven, 
And  rolled  outward  all  around  it. 

From  the  Vale  of  Tawasentha, 
From  the  Valley  of  Wyoming,3 
From  the  groves  of  Tuscaloosa,4 
From  the  far-off  Rocky  Mountains, 


8  8  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

From  the  Northern  lakes  and  rivers 
All  the  tribes  beheld  the  signal, 
Saw  the  distant  smoke  ascending, 
The  Pukwana  of  the  Peace-Pipe. 

And  the  Prophets  of  the  nations 
Said  :  "  Behold  it,  the  Pukwana  ! 
By  this  signal  from  afar  off, 
Bending  like  a  wand  of  willow, 
Waving  like  a  hand  that  beckons, 
Gitche  Manito,  the  mighty, 
Calls  the  tribes  of  men  together, 
Calls  the  warriors  to  his  council !  " 


II. 


BY  the  shores  of  Gitche 
Gumee, 

By    the     shining   Big-Sea- 
Water, 

Stood  the  wigwam  of  Nok- 
omis, 

Daughter     of    the    Moon, 
Nokomis 

Dark  behind    it    rose   the 
forest, 

Rose  the  black  and  gloomy 
pine-trees, 

Rose   the    firs   with  cones 
upon  them ; 

Bright  before   it  beat  the 
water, 

Beat  the  clear  and  sunny 
water, 

Beat   the  shining  Big-Sea- 
Water. 

There  the   wrinkled,  old 
Nokomis 

Nursed  the  little  Hiawatha, 

Rocked  him  in  his   linden  cradle, 

Bedded   soft   in   moss  and  rushes, 

Safely  bound  with  reindeer  sinews  ; 

Stilled  his  fretful  wail  by  saying, 

"  Hush  !  the  Naked  Bear  will  hear  thee  !  " 


90 


INDIAN  LEGENDS. 


Lulled  him  into  slumber,  singing, 

"  Ewa-yea !  my  little  owlet ! 

Who  is  this,  that  lights  the  wigwam  ? 

With  his  great  eyes  lights  the  wigwam  ? 

Ewa-yea !  my  little  owlet  I  " 


Hiawatha's  Wooing. 

AT  the  doorway  of  his  wigwam 
Sat  the  ancient  Arrow-maker, 
In  the  land  of  the  Dacotas, 
Making  arrow-heads  of  jasper, 
Arrow-heads  of  chalcedony. 
At  his  side,  in  all  her  beauty, 
Sat  the  lovely  Minnehaha, 
Sat  his  daughter,  Laughing  Water, 
Plaiting  mats  of  flags  and  rushes  ; 
Of  the  past  the  old  man's  thoughts  were, 
And  the  maiden's  of  the  future. 

He  was  thinking,  as  he  sat  there, 
Of  the  days  when  with  such  arrows 
He  had  struck  the  deer  and  bison, 
On  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow  ; 
Shot  the  wild  goose   flying  southward, 
On  the  wing,  the  clamorous  Wawa ; 
Thinking  of  the  great  war-parties, 
How  they  came  to  buy  his  arrows, 
Could  not  fight  without  his  arrows. 
Ah,  no  more  such  noble  warriors. 
Could  be  found  on  earth  as  they  were ! 
Now  the  men  were  all  like  women, 


92  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Only  used  their  tongues  for  weapons  ! 

She  was  thinking  of  a  hunter, 
From  another  tribe  and  country, 
Young  and  tall  and  very  handsome, 
Who  one  morning,  in  the  Spring-time, 
Came  to  buy  her  father's  arrows, 
Sat  and  rested  in  the  wigwam, 
Lingered  long  about  the  doorway, 
Looking  back  as  he  departed. 
She  had  heard  her  father  praise  him, 
Praise  his  courage  and  his  wisdom ; 
Would  he  come  again  for  arrows 
To  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha  ? 
On  the  mat  her  hands  lay  idle, 
And  her  eyes  were  very  dreamy. 

Through  their  thoughts  they  heard  a  footstep, 
Heard  a  rustling  in  the  branches, 
And  with  glowing  cheek  and  forehead, 
With  the  deer  upon  his  shoulders, 
Suddenly  from  out  the  woodlands 
Hiawatha  stood  before  them. 

Straight  the  ancient  Arrow-maker 
Looked  up  gravely  from  his  labor, 
Laid  aside  the  unfinished  arrow, 
Bade  him  enter  at  the  doorway, 
Saying,  as  he  rose  to  meet  him, 
"  Hiawatha,  you  are  welcome  ! " 

At  the  feet  of  Laughing  Water 
Hiawatha  laid  his  burden, 
Threw  the  red  deer  from  his  shoulders  ; 
And  the  maiden  looked  up  at  him, 
Looked  up  from  her  mat  of  rushes, 
Said  with  gentle  look  and  accent, 


HIAWATHA'S  WOOING.  93 

"  You  are  welcome,  Hiawatha  !  " 

Very  spacious  was  the  wigwam, 
Made  of  deer-skin  dressed  and  whitened, 
With  the  Gods  of  the  Dakotas 
Drawn  and  painted  on  its  curtains, 
And  so  tall  the  doorway,  hardly 
Hiawatha  stooped  to  enter, 
Hardly  touched  his  eagle-feathers 
As  he  entered  at  the  doorway. 

Then  uprose  the  Laughing  Water, 
From  the  ground  fair  Minnehaha, 
Laid  aside  her  mat  unfinished, 
Brought  forth  food  and  set  before  them, 
Water  brought  them  from  the  brooklet, 
Gave  them  food  in  earthen  vessels, 
Gave  them  drink  in  bowls  of  bass-wood, 
Listened  while  the  guest  was  speaking, 
Listened  while  her  father  answered, 
But  not  once  her  lips  she  opened, 
Not  a  single  word  she  uttered. 

Yes,  as  in  a  dream  she  listened 
To  the  words  of  Hiawatha, 
As  he  talked  of  old  Nokomis, 
Who  had  nursed  him  in  his  childhood . 
As  he  told  of  his  companions, 
Chibiabos,  the  musician, 
And  the  very  strong  man,  Kwasind, 
And  of  happiness  and  plenty 
In  the  land  of  the  Ojibways, 
In  the  pleasant  land  and  peaceful. 

"  After  many  years  of  warfare, 
Many  years  of  strife  and  bloodshed, 
There  is  peace  between  the  Ojibways 


94  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

And  the  tribe  of  the  Dakotas." 
Thus  continued  Hiawatha, 
And  then  added,  speaking  slowly, 
"  That  this  peace  may  last  forever, 
And  our  hands  be  clasped  more  closely, 
And  our  hearts  be  more  united, 
Give  me  as  my  wife  this  maiden, 
Minnehaha,  Laughing  Water, 
Loveliest  of  Dakota  women  ! " 

And  the  ancient  Arrow-maker 
Paused  a  moment  ere  he  answered, 
Smoked  a  little  while  in  silence, 
Looked  at  Hiawatha  proudly, 
Fondly  looked  at  Laughing  Water, 
And  made  answer  very  gravely : 
"  Yes,  if  Minnehaha  wishes ; 
Let  your  heart  speak,  Minnehaha  ! 

And  the  lovely  Laughing  Water 
Seemed  more  lovely,  as  she  stood  there, 
Neither  willing  nor  reluctant, 
As  she  went  to  Hiawatha, 
Softly  took  the  seat  beside  him, 
While  she  said,  and  blushed  to  say  it, 
"  I  will  follow  you,  my  husband ! " 

This  was  Hiawatha's  wooing ! 
Thus  it  was  he  won  the  daughter 
Of  the  ancient  Arrow-maker, 
In  the  land  of  the  Dakotas  ! 

HENRY  "W.   LONGFELLOW, 


flBHtt- 
^S 


THE  RIVER  LAKE. 


The  River=Lake. 

AFTER  the  cooling  shower 
Soft  is  the  twilight  hour 

On  the  river-lake. 
Sweetly  the  plaintive  note 
Gushes  from  whippoorwill's  throat, 
Gently,  gently  we  float, 

Light  as  a  fine  snow-flake, 

Down  the  river-lake. 
The  dripping  oars  at  rest 

Their  murmurous  music  wake, 
And  ripple  o'er  the  breast 

Of  the  peaceful  river-lake. 

The  lovely  shadows  fall 
Like  a  sin-outshutting  wall 

On  the  river-lake, 
Charming  the  hour  and  place. 
The  holiness  we  trace 
In  Nature's  quiet  grace 

Makes  sacred  for  her  sake 

All  on  the  river-lake. 


96 


INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

O  this  is  purest  joy  ! 

This  it  is  that  makes 
Me  love  the  wide  St.  Croix, 

The  river-lake  of  lakes. 


E.   L.   FALES. 


Song  of  a  Nadowessee  Chief. 

SEE  on  his  mat — as  if  of  yore, 

All  life-like  sits  he  here  I 
With  that  same  aspect  which  he  wore 

When  light  to  him  was  dear. 

But  where  the  right  hand's  strength  ?  and  where 

The  breath  that  loved  to  breathe, 
To  the  Great  Spirit  aloft  in  air, 

The  peace-pipe's  lusty  wreath  ? 

And  where  the  hawk-like  eye,  alas  I 

That  wont  the  deer  pursue, 
Along  the  waves  of  rippling  grass, 

Or  fields  that  shone  with  dew  ? 

Are  these  the  limber,  bounding  feet 

That  swept  the  winter's  snows  ? 
What  stateliest  stag  so  fast  and  fleet  ? 

Their  speed  outstripped  the  roe's  I 

These  arms,  that  then  the  steady  bow 

Could  supple  from  its  pride, 
How  stark  and  helpless  hang  they  now 

Adown  the  stiffened  side  I 

7 


98  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Yet  weal  to  him — at  peace  he  stays 

Where  never  fall  the  snows  ; 
Where  o'er  the  meadows  springs  the  maize 

That  mortal  never  sows. 

Where  birds  are  blithe  on  every  brake- 
Where  forests  teem  with  deer — 

Where  glide  the  fish  through  every  lake — 
One  chase  from  year  to  year  ! 

With  spirits  now  he  feasts  above  ; 

All  left  us — to  revere 
The  deeds  we  honor  with  our  love, 

The  dust  we  bury  here. 

Here  bring  the  last  gift !  loud  and  shrill 
Wail,  death  dirge  for  the  brave  ! 

What  pleased  him  most  in  life  may  still 
Give  pleasure  in  the  grave. 

We  lay  the  ax  beneath  his  head 

He  swung  when  strength  was  strong — 

The  bear  on  which  his  banquets  fed — 
The  way  from  earth  is  long  ! 

And  here,  new  sharped,  place  the  knife 

That  severed  from  the  clay, 
From  which  the  ax  had  spoiled  the  life, 

The  conquered  scalp  away  ! 

The  paints  that  deck  the  dead  bestow — 

Yes,  place  them  in  his  hand — 
That  red  the  kingly  shade  may  glow 

Amid  the  spirit-land. 

SIR.  E.   L.   BULWER. 


"Mahnusatia." 

A  PINE-GIKT  lake,  broad  spread ;  a  glimpse 

Of  clear-rimmed  bay,  encroaching  lusk 

Upon  a  lapse  of  rocky  vale  ; 

Beyond,  a  brunt-browed  mountain,  set 

Abrupt  against  a  weary  waste 

Of  level,  sparse-grown  forest  plain. 

Vanguard  of  Order's  birth  on  Earth's 

Primeval  stage,  sphynx-like,  the  mount 

From  chaos  burst  upon  a  world 

Of  sea  in  space.     It  kept  its  head 

To  the  sun  ;  it  pierced  the  dense  of  the  mists ; 

It  gathered  forces,  one  by  one, 

Until  the  land  by  light  was  kissed. 

The  waters  slunk  away  to  Lake 

Superior's  bent,  leaving  a  child 

At  play,  on  a  plateau's  breast,  content. 

Marking  the  march  of  time,  the  mount 

Grew  grim  and  gray,  while  ages  stored 

Their  riches  at  its  feet  away : — 

Ore-of-iron  riches  deep  stowed 

In  vaults  of  rock,  for  creature  king 

Of  future  age  to  fit  the  key 

Of  genius  in  their  ancient  locks ; 


100  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Stowed  wealth  to  bless  a  nation,  whose 

Motto :  "  Onward  !  Light !  "  befits  it 

For  that  mountain's  home,  which  pierced  through 

Inchoate  night ;  stowed  signet  seal, 

With  which  to  stamp  that  fair  land's  Queen 

Of  States,  whose  crested  monogram, 

With  sheaves  of  wheat  entwined,  the  North 

Star  scintillates. 

Guarding  the  till 

Of  treasure,  mountain,  grim  and  gray, 
Playing  with  wind  and  wave,  child-lough 
And  lazy  bay — Archaic  group 
Are  they,  whose  quiet  naught  details 
Of  primal  epochs  ;  yet,  as  face 
Of  man  with  furrowed  wrinkles  marked 
And  seared,  suggests  his  past  life's  course, 
Their  presence  in  itself  reveals 
The  trace  of  annals  which  their  calm 
Conceals.     So  Mystery's  seeds  were  sown. 
Even  the  simple  Indian  folk, — 
Naive  indigene  of  primitive  plain, — 
Beheld  with  minds  to  quickened  thought 
Provoked,  that  single  skyward  height 
Break  stark  upon  the  main  and  called 
It  "  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog." 
Because,  they  said,  it  was  the  breast 
Of  Mother  Earth,  which  there  arose 
To  succor  spirit  souls  in  quest 
Of  joyous  hunting-grounds,  of  which 
Their  wise  men  tell.     And  not  to  them 
Alone  has  nature  from  this  rare 
Scene  appealed  to  fancy ;  for,  when 


"  MAHNUSA  TIA."  101 

Old  Father  Time,  froixi  out/his  horn 
Of  plenty,  had  poured  the  years  full  ^ 
Generations  high  upon  tho  one 
To  which  this  legend  runs,  the  white 
Man  came,  bearing  a  waving  stick, 
His  country's  standard,  into  these 
Proemial  haunts.     The  lake,  wine-stained, 
He  called  "  Vermilion,"  but  the  mount 
Which  broke  upon  his  vision  from 
Under  a  chastened  moon,  he  named, 
"  Jasper,"  after  glories  promised 
To  the  kingdom  of  his  own  God. 


The  wild  rice  bent  its  fragile  stalk 
Beneath  a  crown  of  ripened  grain  ; 
The  birch  and  oak  and  maple  blazed 
The  Autumn's  glory  forth,  and  set  aflame 
With  red  and  gold,  the  northland  pines, 
Perennial  green.     The  light  wind's  voice 
Was  muffled  in  requiem,  mournful,  low, — 
A  parting  song  to  Summer,  sad,  soft, 
And  measured  slow.     Timed  to  the  chant 
Of  death,  but  tuned  to  death's  sweet  hope — 
Joy-hope  of  sorrow  born — fair  birth, 
A  freer  life  of  fuller  scope  ! 
The  sinking  sun  set  all  ablush 
The  bosom  of  the  lake.     Upon  the  edge 
Of  twilight  rode  the  specter  moon — 
Swift  pinioned  bird  of  noiseless  flight— 
And  hung  a  halo  far  above 
Mount  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog. 


102  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Aio:ag;the  snarcl-strewn  shore,  a  band 

Of  Chipjpeway  braves  had  pitched  their  camp, 

To  oelete'te,  'with,1  tfjes  c»f  their 

Medawe,  the  flooding  season's 

Tide  of  full-grown  grain.     In  and  out 

Among  the  shadow-lengthened  pines, 

Their  dusky  forms  moved,  one  by  one, 

To  circle  silently  around 

The  council  fire.     And  when  the  tribe 

Were  gathered  all,  the  day  was  done ; 

Its  splendor  shifted  to  the  Queen 

Of  Night,  that,  flushed  with  triumph,  flung 

Adown  the  path  of  sky,  beyond 

Mount  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog 

A  bridge  of  golden  gleams,  to  lose 

Themselves  within  the  darkling  depths 

Of  Lake  Vermilion's  lifeless  bay. 

Then  Guteba,  like  Jacob's  son, 
The  favored  one  of  twelve,  arose. 
No  warrior  paint  his  tawny  skin 
Bedecked,  nor  eagle  plume,  nor  claw 
Of  beast  adorned  his  royal  head — 
Base  custom  that  of  vulgar  herd. 
He  wore  a  girt  of  wampum,  nor 
Need  had  he  of  other  raiment ; 
For  form  erect,  and  sinewy  frame 
And  kindling  eye,  bespoke  the  garb 
Of  manhood. 

Thus  he  addressed  them  : 
"  From  yonder  window,  framed  in  sky, 
Swings  Ko-go-gau-pa-gon. 


"MAHNUSATIA."  103 

The  God  of  Life  has  placed  it  there. 
Down-hanging  from  the  happy  land, 
Where  spirits  go,  it  forms  a  bridge, 
O'er  which  all  ransomed  souls  must  cross. 


In  fineness  built,  of  beam  of  moon, 
It  sinks  and  rolls,  my  children.     But 
The  light  of  foot  and  brave  of  heart 
Fear  not.     And  one  thing  mark :  before 
An  Indian  may  touch  sole  upon 


104  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Those  gleaming  strands  of  gold,  he  first 

Must  navigate  the  bay,  within 

Whose  darkly  deep  and  treacherous  bounds 

The  water,  shamming,  seems  to  sleep, 

But  only  lies,  like  cunning  fox, 

To  snare  unwary  passers-by 

And  hold  them  from  their  homeward  way. 

"  The  story  is  not  new.     It  is 

Told  with  every  year,  as  I  do  tell 

It  now,  when  comes  Medawe  time  ; 

When  all  the  earth  was  young  in  youth 

The  mighty  Water  reigned  thereon 

And  breath  of  life  was  not.     Then,  here, 

Upon  the  wind  was  heard  a  voice 

In  thunder  tones,  which  said  unto 

The  Water,  «  Ritchie  Gumme,  I 

Am  Gezha  Manitou — of  Life 

The  Master  Spirit.     Lo  !  I  bid 

Thy  waves  recede.     Here,  leading  up 

Past  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog 

Unto  the  Soul's  Hereafter,  I 

Have  established  Ke-wa-ku-na. 

Thy  waters  overleap  my  path 

So  that  my  children  cannot  pass. 

Thou'st  gone  too  far.     Retreat  to  serve 

Within  the  spacious  metes  which  I 

Have  set  for  thee.'     Because  the  waves 

Would  not,  Gezha  Manitou  hurled 

Them  back  upon  each  other,  till 

They  sank  deeper  and  deeper  and 

Deeper  into  perpetual  sea. 

Time  does  not  count  backward  beyond 


"  MAHNUSATIA."  105 

That  struggle,  but  the  water's  voice 

Has  ever  since  been  dumb  where  it 

Took  place  ;  his  arms  have  there  refused 

The  birch  canoe  to  cradle,  or 

The  fish  to  succor.     There,  also 

He  called  the  Matchie  Manitou, 

The  evil  ones,  to  do  his  will. 

They  slew  the  buffalo,  until 

The  rocks  turned  red  with  blood.     They  stole 

The  souls  of  them  who  sought  to  pass 

The  water  grave ;  and  man  grew  sad 

And  heavy-hearted.     Then  the  voice 

Of  Gezha  Manitou  again 

Was  heard  in  words  of  speech  to  say  : 

4  When  winter  snows,  and  springtime  showers, 

And  summer  suns  have  rounded  out 

The  moon  of  ripened  grain,  light  fires 

To  mark  the  places  where  your  dead 

Await  my  messengers  to  guide 

Them  home.     Of  meat  to  eat  provide 

Them  none  ;  but  shape  their  arrows  strong 

And  true.     My  buffalo  will  herd 

Upon  the  water,  and,  along 

The  shores,  thy  garnered  stores  of  grass 

And  grain  must  yield  them  food.     Their  horns 

Will  golden  glimmer  on  the  night 

To  make  them  easy  prey  for  home 

Bound  souls,  and  they  shall  not  be  harmed 

By  Matchie  Manitou.     All  clothed 

In  serpent  skin  and  sharpened  tooth 

And  poisoned  tongue,  my  guides  will  come. 

Then,  let  the  living  wary  be 

And  go  not  near  the  tombs  after 


106  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

The  haze  of  dusk  turns  dark  of  night ; 
For  swift  my  heralds  will  approach 
Those  ghostly  haunts  with  sure  demand 
For  every  soul  that's  found  therein, 
Be  it  in  body  dead  or  quick.' 

"  The  month,  the  day,  the  hour  is  here, 
My  children,  when  the  dead  may  cross 
To  Ke-wa-ku-na  less  the  fear 
Of  harm,  and  we  have  come  to  say 
xThe  last  farewell.     Wacumic's  tomb, 
Among  the  rest,  awaits  the  torch. 
In  council,  he  was  the  Wise  Man ; 
In  war,  the  Brave  Chief,  and  at  home 
The  Best  Loved,— his  forefathers  famed 
For  deeds  of  valor,  virtue,  and 
Wisdom  far  back  as  memory  takes 
The  trail.     His  name,  interpreted 
4  The  waters  ceased  and  earth  began,' 
Denotes  the  time  to  which  his  line 
Of  lineage  runs.     His  spirit  craves 
The  promised  land  of  happy  hunt, 
And  chase,  and  sweetly  flowing  streams. 
Our  numbers  are  few,  but  our  hearts 
Are  strong.     We  are  weak  from  the  loss 
Of  many  battles,  far  from  home  ; 
Our  horizon  is  shadowed  by  the  Sioux ; 
Their  echoing  songs  ring  the  woodlands 
Through.     Is  it  wise  for  us  to  light 
The  zenith  of  our  skies,  e'en  tho' 
It  be  with  flame  of  sacred  fire  ? 
Wacumic  was  my  father ;  you 
My  children  are.     I  have  finished.'* 


"MAHNUSATIA."  107 

Against  the  circle's  center  stake 

The  chieftain  placed  his  wing-trimmed  stick — 

Most  curious  crozier,  which  gave 

Unto  the  thought  of  him,  whose  palm 

It  touched  a  brilliant  speaking  tongue ; 

Resumed  his  honored  place  the  tribe 

Among, 

Then  stranger  far,  than  track 
Of  wayward  bird,  or  swirling  wind, 
Was  Janishkisgan's  forward  course. 
A  maid  of  plebeian  birth,  she  did 
Not  ask  the  leave  of  public  speech — 
A  right  to  woman  not  allowed — 
But  from  her  people^  where  she  sat, 
With  meekness  due,  stepped  out  and  grasped 
The  staff  Guteba  had  released, 
Thus  arrogating  to  herself 
The  right  of  oracle. 

She  said  : 

"  I  was  thy  dead  chief's  handmaid,  Friends. 
Twelve  months  agone,  I  was  with  him 
Upon  the  battle-field  alone. 
The  Sioux  were  all  around  us ;  their 
Faces  war-red  painted  ;  their  cries 
Of  vengeance  filling  all  the  air. 
He  to  his  saddle  caught  me  up. 
The  Great  Spirit  strengthened  his  arm ; 
The  lightning  whet  his  ax  ;  the  wind 
Speeded  his  pony's  hoofs.     Through  walls 
Of  human  blood  he  cut  our  way, 
And  on  his  tomb  no  single  scalp 


108  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

The  deed  remarks,  or  notes  the  slain 

He  left  to  whiten  bones  upon 

The  plains.     He  saved  my  life.     What  can 

I  better  do  with  it  than  use 

It  for  him  ?     Arrows  ready  make  ; 

Gather  the  grass  and  grain  with  which 

To  feed  the  golden  horns  ;  prepare 

The  fuel  for  the  sacred  fires 

And  I  will  light  and  keep  them  bright 

Upon  the  tombs.     From  my  lips 

Speaks  Gezha  Manitou.     I  have  done." 

Upon  the  silence  which  her  words 
Produced,  the  night-hawk's  startling  cry 
Succeeded,  and,  round  and  round,  above 
Her  head  a  milk-white  falcon  soared, 
Now  sailing  high,  now  skimming  low, 
As  if  some  mystic  orison 
In  exultation  it  performed. 

Symbolic  bird  !     Thy  course  no  chance 
Directed.     Talismanic  art 
Thou  held  by  this  nomadic  tribe  : 
For,  when  the  First  Wacumic  ruled 
The  band,  from  all  the  hosts  of  field 
And  feathery  flock  of  heaven,  thou  wert 
Elected  Totem.     Favored  One  ! 
Their  fate  forever  linked  to  thine ; 
Thy  image  crested  on  their  shields ; 
Thy  every  flight  prophetic  held  ! 

Now,  watch  the  trend  of  savage  mind. 
Even  Chief  Guteba,  who  loved 


"  MAHNUSATIA."  109 

The  Indian  maid,  knew  that  the  bird 

A  seal  had  put  upon  her,  from  which 

Her  accomplished  task  alone  would 

Freedom  give  ;  and  drove  his  knife 

Into  the  thickness  of  his  thigh 

Hilt  deep,  to  ease  his  pain  of  heart 

That  one  so  young,  so  fair  and  so 

Much  loved  withal,  must  need  take  thought 

Of  courage. 


The  Great  Medicine 
Confirmed  the  omen,  in  these  words : 
"  Daughter,  thou  art  chosen  :    go  forth. 
I  give  thee  holy  token,  no 
Woman  ever  wore  before.     It  is 
The  medicine,  which  none  but  brave 
Of  noble  birth  may  wear.     Though  thou 
Art  not  of  chieftain  father  bred, 
Still  yet  thou  art  born  noble.     Take, 
Janishkisgan,  and  to  the  top 
Of  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog. 
There  let  thine  eye  be  keen,  the  path 
Of  open  safety  to  descry  ; — 
Use  this  plume  of  eagle  plucked, 
To  point  to  us  the  way.     We  will 
Prepare  the  arrows  ;  grass  and  grain 
Arrange,  and  make  the  fuel  ready  for 
The  flame  upon  the  graves.     When  four 
And  twenty  hours  have  passed,  light  thou 
The  fires  upon  the  tombs,  and  keep 
Them  brightly  burning  till  the  ripe 
Rich  moon  has  emptied  all  its  gold." 


110  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

He  hung  the  amulet  about 
Her  throat — the  medicine,  a  bag 
Of  dried,  misshapen  skin,  that  held 
The  healing  herbs — a  homely  guise 
That  promised  for  them  little  worth ; 
For,  so  are  virtues  ofttimes  clothed. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  as  one 
Made  free  of  fear  and  full  of  faith ; 
Then  moved  away,  while  marveled  all 
Who  saw  her  glowing,  peaceful  face, 
Not  knowing  that  her  heart  held  court 
Within  its  inner  self,  as  thus  : 
"  I  thank  thee,  milk-white  bird,  that  guides 
My  path.     E'en  now  Guteba's  lips 
Are  ripe  to  burst  with  love  of  me. 
I  see  it  in  his  glance  ;  I  hear 
It  in  his  tones.     My  heart  doth  not 
Respond.     His  presents  are  prepared 
With  which  to  buy  me  from  my  sire ; 
His  wigwam  waits  his  bride,  but  I 
Will  never  follow  there.     Thou  hast 
Given  me  right,  thou  barbarous  bird,   . 
To  say  him  nay,  who  loves  him  not  ;    -'. 
For,  where  the  handmaid  must  obey, 
The  maid  who  lights  the  sacred  fire 
And  bears  the  medicine  shall  have 
Her  equal  say.     And  should  my  life 
Yield  in  my  task,  thou'rt  kinder,  Death, 
Than  wandering  heart  from  wigwam  fire." 

The  Chippeway  band  to  safety  moved, 
Far  toward  the  rising  sun,  and  pitched 


"  MAHNUSATIA."  HI 

Their  camp  anew ;  then  hoped,  less  hope, 
For  tidings  of  Janishkisgan, 
That  never  came. 

Guteba's  face 

The  while  was  draped  with  care,  his  tongue 
With  sadness  locked.     To  muffled  ears 
His  wise  men  spake,  when  they  implored 
Him,  for  his  honor's  sake,  to  take 
A  wife — he  being  counted  less 
Than  man  by  Redskin  code,  who  sits 
Within  his  teepee  door,  without 
The  serving  squaw  and  papoose  squawk. 

Meantime  the  Great  White  Bird,  from  out 
The  North,  came  riding  on  the  wind, 
Its  wings  o'er  heaven  spread,  and  shed 
Its  down  on  hill  and  plain,  the  earth 
In  snow  deep  lying.     Fasted  then 
Guteba  long,  and  vowed  unto 
Himself  that,  cold  in  death  or  rich 
In  life,  the  maiden  should  be  found  ; 
Across  his  shoulder  flung  his  bow 
And  arrow  quiver  ;  in  his  belt 
Placed  tomahawk  and  battle-ax 
And  lance  ;  to  westward  sallied  forth, 
Nor  of  his  purpose  spoke. 

Three  times  the  sun  went  round 
Its  course  and  still  he  tarried  from 
His  home,  while  in  the  Chippeway  camp 
Anxiety  grew  alarm  at  his 
Extended  stay,  and  laggard  seemed 


112  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Each  tiny  fleeting  moment  to 
The  last,  until,  when  three  times  three 
The  days  had  rolled  into  the  past. 
A  shout  was  heard,  and  sound  of  life 
And  roll  of  drum  and  tramp  of  feet 
And  happy,  joyous  song  proclaimed 
The  sachem's  safe  return. 

He  came 

With  flowing  locks  and  steady  step, 
And  form  erect,  his  people  round 
About  him  flocking,  wild  with  joy, 
And  full  of  eager  questions,  put, 
Of  where  he'd  been  and  what  he'd  seen ; 
To  which  his  only  answer  was : 
"  Up  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog." 
As  one  possessed  by.  purpose  stern, 
He  passed  along,  nor  paused  until 
The  halt  was  made  his  wigwam  door 
Before,  where  his  aged  mother  stood 
To  give  him  greeting.     Something  more 
Than  sweetness  beamed  in  welcome  from 
His  smile  the  while  he  took  her  hand 
In  his  and  spoke  that  blessed  name 
Of  "Mother." 

Then,  most  sudden  end 
Of  joy  ! — into  her  outstretched  arms 
He  sank,  as  tho'  he  lent  himself 
To  gentle  sleep,  upon  his  lips 
The  seal  of  Gezha  Manitou ; 
Else  had  they  told  the  tale,  the  which 
To  tell,  had  given  him  strength  to  bear 


"MAHNUSATIA."  113 

A  deep  and  mortal  arrow  wound 

A  long  march  :     How  Janishkisgan 

Lingered  from  her  father's  tent 

To  nurse  the  water  Medicine  Sioux, 

"  Chief  Minnepazuka  "  called,  who,  though 

For  healing  arts  renowned,  had  down 

Been  stricken  with  the  plague  upon 

The  mountain  top,  his  wisdom  shorn 

Of  power  through  lack  of  body  strength 

With  which  to  put  it  into  use. 

The  dead  Chief's  sense  of  justice  craved 

The  gift  of  further  speech,  to  tell 

The  facts  that  lead  thereto  as  all 

Sufficient  in  themselves  to  plead 

Her  pardon.     How  Janishkisgan 

Found  the  Sioux,  near  the  jaws  of  death, 

And  in  her  sympathy  forgot 

That  she  a  Chippeway  was  and  he 

Of  hostile  stem.     She  took  from  him 

The  secret  he  had  wrested  from 

The  waves,  and  mixed  a  cure  thereby 

With  which  his  life  she  saved.     She  kept 

The  fires  burning,  while  waiting  on 

His  needs,  nor  gave  him  but  the  time 

That  they  required ;  yet  both  had  learned 

A  lesson,  dear  as  life  itself — 

Each  to  the  other  had  taught  it, 

And  both  had  learned  the  same — learned  to  love 

With  a  love  so  holy,  that  they 

Must  needs  a  union  plan,  in  which 

There,  too,  should  be  united  all 

Their  severed  bands.     Guteba  heard, 

With  his  own  ears,  the  chieftain  swear 
8 


114  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

That  he  would  bring  from  his  far  home, 

On  western  slopes,  the  richest  gifts 

Of  field  and  forest,  to  demand 

His  bride  from  her  own  father's  hand : 

And,  with  the  rest,  bring  too,  the  white 

Winged  dove  of  peace,  nor  claim  from  lips 

So  passing  sweet,  one  tiny  kiss 

Without  this  all  accomplished.     Chief 

Guteba,  hid  in  neighboring  shrub, 

O'erheard  these  vows,  with  tomahawk 

Well  aimed  against  the  Sioux  Chiefs  head ; 

And,  hanging  on  the  words,  felt  all 

His  being's  manhood  stir  in  plea 

For  nobler  action ;  fall  down  let 

The  threatening  blade,  and,  chief  to  chief, 

Challenged  the  Sioux  to  combat  with 

The  lance  for  Janishkisgan's  hand ; 

It  being  current  practice,  that 

He  who  victored  in  such  a  fray 

Was  held  a  friend  for  aye,  by  all 

The  vanquished  chieftain's  people.     Hurt 

With  fatal  stab,  the  Chippeway  Chief 

Had  hastened  home,  to  urge  upon 

His  tribe  the  well-earned  peace,  the  which 

Minnepazuka's  lance  had  won. 

Inexplicable  fate  !     That  coined 
His  lofty  purpose  and  effort,  staunch, 
Into  the  very  ill,  for  whose 
Opposite  good  he  sought ;  in  death, 
Closed  his  lips,  still  undelivered 
Of  their  message,  and  left  instead 
A  gaping  wound  to  cry,  "  Revenge  !  " 


"  MAHMUSATIA."  115 

The  tribe  tore  out  their  hair,  and  put 
The  blackening  pigment  on,  and  sang 
Their  grieving  songs  ;  athirst  for  blood, 
Unheeding  danger,  struck  their  tents 
And  formed  for  march,  in  single  file, 
Back,  back  in  gloom,  to  silent  tombs, 
Beside  the  dark,  deep  bay,  below 
Mount  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog, 
There  to  lay  their  beloved  chief's 
Remains. 

And,  there,  Janishkisgan, 
Filled  with  the  superstition  of 

Her  kind,  made  pillow  nightly  on 
Her  mother's  grave,  as  well  secure 
As  tho'  she  slept  within  the  wigwam. 
Arid  there  it  was,  one  morning's  dawn, 
The  somber  funeral  cortege  found 
Her.     Most  certain  proof  of  innocence 
And  guilelessness  and  conscience  all 
At  ease  to  rest  upon  a  grave 
At  night,  was  it  considered.     But  thus 
To  be,  in  calm  repose,  a  smile 
Transcendent  on  the  lips,  as  if 
Good  spirits  hovered  near,  almost   . 
Were  past  belief  of  seeing  eye. 
So  moved  were  they,  who  saw  her  there, 
They  stole   away  in  awesome  hush 
Along  a  trackless  trail,  beneath 
A  ledge  of  rugged  rock.     Above 
Their  heads  a  bowlder's  jutting  edge 
Protruded,  where,  this  early  morn, 
Minnepazuka  came  to  sing 
A  song  of  love. 


116  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

% 

Alas  !     That  she, 

Who  dreamed  of  him,  had  dream  so  sweet, 
Her  smile  to  him  disastrous  proved : 
For,  in  that  northern  wild,  no  spot 
So  fit  for  ambush  was  as  this 
Unbeaten,  shrub-grown  path  of  rock 
To  which  the  Chippeways'  impulse 
Led  them  ;  and  none  so  ill-secure 
From  ambuscading  foe  as  this 
Same  barren  bowlder,  upon  whose 
O'erhanging  height,  the  Sioux  reclined. 

His  prelude,  played  on  flageolet, 
In  clear  and  clarion  tones,  broke  through 
The  still  of  dawn  and  fell  on  ears 
Of  foes,  who  crept  upon  him,  the  while 
He  softly  sang : 

"  Oh,  my  Dove's  Eye, 
Thou  dear  one,  hearest  thou  not 
My  voice  ?     Thou  lingerest  far  from  me. 
I  am  the  Water  Medicine.     Rocks 
Flow  living  streams  if  I  but  call. 
Thou  sharest  my  secrets,  wee  one  ; 
Thou,  too,  hast  quaffed  of  Immortal 
Waters.     Why  linger  far  from  me  ? 
When  the  fever  was  upon  me, 
Then  wast  thou  near  me,  thou  Sunbeam. 
Now,  I  am  strong.     To-morrow  will 
I  journey  toward  the  setting  sun. 
But  I  will  come  back  again  for  thee. 
My  people  shall  be  thine,  my  own. 
Hearken  to  the  voice  of  my  song. 


118  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

My  love  is  like  the  shining  sun 

Upon  the  pure  snow  of  the  mount — 

It  would  blush  upon  thy  cheek,  but 

It  would  not  destroy  thee.     Hear  me, 

Gentle  one  ;  fear  me  not.     Thou  didst 

Not  love  the  Chief  Guteba.     Thy 

Lips  have  confessed  it  to  me,  and 

My  lance  drank  his  heart  dry.     Now,  thou 

Sleepest  upon  thy  mother's  tomb." 

As  like  the  lightning  of  the  storm  ' 
Forensic  message  on  the  walls 
Of  heaven  writes,  to  fill  the  earth 
With  pause  of  tragic  dread,  so  did 
Guteba's  name,  on  alien  tongue 
For  one  brief  moment  holden  stay 
The  stealthy  steps  that  stole  about 
The  Sioux  and  closed  escaping  path 
Around  him.     And  as  thunder  lends  ' 
Unto  the  tempest's  roar  a  voice 
More  awful  because  of  that  but 
Momentary  respite,  so  with 
The  next  succeeding  breath,  the  air 
Was  curdled  with  the  Chippeway  cry 
Of  vengeance.     Before  the  Sioux  could 
Change  within  his  grasp  the  place 
Of  joyous  flute  for  battle-ax 
He  was  surrounded  by  them  and  made 
Their  royal  captive. 

In  thongs  bound 

Down  and  tortured,  Janishkisgan 
Next  beheld  him.     But  love,  like  theirs, 


"  MAHNUSATIA."  119 

Which  hath  preserved  itself  through  test 

In  purity,  knows  not  despair. 

Nor  can  it  hush  itself  to  ease 

If  it  can  find  the  chance  to  act 

In  the  beloved  one's  behalf. 

So  while  the  maid,  well-honored  guard 

Of  sacred  fires,  passed  freely  round, 

From  friend,  to  friend,  with  greetings  kind, 

In  measure  full  returned,  her  thoughts 

Were  busy  with  the  night. 

When  all 

Was  still  beneath  the  stars,  she  left 
Her  blanket  couch,  high-heaped  on  leaves, 
And  let  the  prisoner  free.     Under 
An  old  oak  tree  they  said  farewell, 
Not  without  Minnepazuka's 
Protestations,  who  plead  as  thus  : 

"  Oh,  come  with  me,  and  be  my  bride  ; 
My  home  is  011  the  prairies  wide, 
Where  West  sweeps  westward,  in  its  pride, 
To  mount  the  heights  of  mountain  side  ; 
Where  yellow  glows  the  sunflower's  gold, 
And  earth  rolls  rich  in  mellow  mold  ; 
Where  cactus  bloom  and  roses  blush, 
And  rivers  sweep  through  greensward  lush  ; 
Where  deer  and  antelope  and  bear 
Abound  as  free  as  sunlit  air ; 
Where  buffalo  and  cayote  dwell 
And  perch  and  trout  the  clear  brook  swell. 
Oh,  come  ;  oh,  come,  and  live  with  me — 
To  serve  thee  I  shall  happy  be. 


120  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

I'll  pluck  thee  bed  of  down  of  swan ; 
Thy  cares  make  light  as  foot  of  fawn; 
I'll  build  canoe  of  birch-wood  bark 
To  cradle  thee,  my  Singing  Lark. 
I'll  rob  the  white  bear  for  thy  frock ; 
I'll  bring  thee  paint  from  red  of  rock; 
I'll  note  the  honey-bee  in  its  flight — 
Gather  its  sweets  by  bright  moonlight. 
I'll  coax  the  fishes  from  the  wave ; 
Thy  slightest  wish  shall  bind  me  slave  ; 
My  arrow  true  its  bow  will  fly 
To  draw  abundance  from  the  sky ; 
The  heavens  shall  tremble  at  my  voice 
And  thy  dear  heart  rejoice,  rejoice. 
Oh,  fly  with  me,  these  arms  to  bless  ; 
Rest,  rest,  my  little  love,  on  my  breast." 

"  It  cannot  be,  my  beaming-eyed, 
Until  our  people  are  allied. 
My  father's  step  is  growing  slow, 
No  other  child  hath  he.     The  snow 
Upon  his  head  would  pile  did  I 
But  go  with  thee.     I  beg  thee  fly." 

"  No  claim  so  binding  is  as  love — 
Oh,  come,  oh,  come,  my  nestling  dove — 
Thy  hands  have  set  me  free.     And  all 
The  blame  of  my  escape  will  fall 
On  thee.     Thy  father  will  disown 
Thee  ;  the  children  cruel  will  stone 
Thee,  and " 

"  And  I  will  think  of  thee." 


"     AHNUSATIA."  121 

"  Leave  thee  alone  to  bear  such  wrongs  ! 
Oh,  no.     Upon  my  wrists  bind  back 
The  thongs.     I  will  not-freedom  take. 
'Twere  better  far  than  price  like  this 
To  perish  at  the  stake.     Bind  back 
The  thongs." 

"  Thou  wouldst  spare  me  pain  ?     Then, 
Go.     Each  tiny,  lapping  flame  of  fire 
That  fed  its  tongue  on  thee,  would  scorch 
The  life-blood  in  my  heart  until 
Upon  the  funeral  pyre,  I'd  throw 
My  worthless  self.     I  beg  thee  go." 

"  Alas  !     Thy  heart  is  cold  to  me." 

"  Nay,  nay,  not  so ;  it  all  is  thine. 
I  give  it  in  this  kiss.     'Twill  sing 
To  thee  from  throat  of  bird;  it  will 
Echo  on  the  wind  ;  it  will 
Caress  thee  from  the  dew  ; — 'tis  all 
I  have ;  it  is  thine.     Farewell." 

"  Gentle  One,  thou  givest  me  life, 
To  take  it  from  me.     Thou  lily  heart, 
Thou  art  my  own,  my  other  self : 
Thy  god  declares  it  unto  thee, 
And  mine  to  me." 

"  And  over  all 
Is  the  Great  Spirit.     Farewell." 

"Thou  wilt  not  go?" 
"  Farewell." 

"  Farewell." 


122  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Sad  fate,  by  human  standard  judged, 
The  Indian  maiden  brought  upon 
Herself.     Given -to  eat  with  dogs, 
Clothed  in  rags,  disgraced,  driven  from 
Her  father's  door,  the  power  of  love 
Sustained  her.     Magic  Power,  Great 
Architect,  Superb  Chemist  Love  ! 
The  heart  that  entertains  thee 
Grows  lofty  in  spirit  gentleness, 
E'en  tho'  thou  deignst  to  make  it  but 
Thy  workshop.     So  Janishkisgan 
Knew  thee.     Fearing  only  to  prove 
Unworthy  of  her  august  guest, 
She  walked  in  the  midst  of  scorn, 
Contempt,  contumely,  sneers  and  stern 
Displeasure,  with  that  forbearance 
And  kindly  dignity,  which  re-won 
Her  friends,  despite  themselves  ;  so  that 
At  last  they  gave  her  pitying  peace, 
And  listened  with  their  heart-strings  tuned 
To  life's  better  part,  while  she  sang 
Her  farewell  song,  each  eve  beneath 
The  tree. 

After  a  time  the  plague 
Broke  out  and  lamentations  rose 
On  every  hand.     Old  women  made 
Their  teas  and  plied  their  healing  arts; 
The  Great  Medicine  Men  implored 
Gezha  Manitou's  aid,  and  all 
The  vibrant  air  was  resonant 
With  invoking  incantations. — 
Death  marched  on.     Then  Janishkisgan 


"  MAHNUSATIA."  123 

Bethought  her  of  her  lover's  cure ; 
Gathered  the  balsam  root  and  mixed 
Therefrom  the  potent  draught,  as  he 
Had  taught  her.     Great  Medicine 
It  was,  that  brought  the  glow  of  health 
Into  the  faded,  hollow  cheeks, 
And  all  the  people  blessed  the  maid ; 
Called  her,  "  Mahnusatia,"  which  means 
The  balm  that  heals.     Surrounded  by 
The  dread  disease,  she  came  and  went 
Unscathed,  as  if  by  unseen  hands 
Protected.     Where  her  gentle  tones 
Were  heard  or  where  her  light  step  fell, 
It  was  as  if  an  angel  passed. — 
Wan  faces  smiled,  and  hearts  felt  hope, 
And  trembling  lips  found  voice  to  cry: 
"  Mahnusatia  !     Mahnusatia  !  " 

Thus  in  love  was  she  renamed. 

Reinstated  and  reintrenched 

Deeper  then  ever  in  hearts  which 

Had  once  renounced  her,  still  she  lived 

As  one  apart.     The  seasons  came 

And  passed,  and  as  they  did,  the  tribe 

Changed  camp,  from  place  to  place,  with  each 

Recurring  Autumn  to  return 

To  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog ; 

But  "  Mahnusatia  "  never  left 

The  silent  village.     There  she  kept 

Her  vigil,  night  by  night,  under 

The  old  oak  tree.     Her  form  became 

Wasted  ;  her  eyes  lustrous  ;  her  limbs 

Grew  to  tremble,  but  her  voice  was 


124  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Sweeter,  as  on  each  even's  breeze, 
In  rain  or  shine,  in  storm  or  calm, 
Was  heard  her  fond  farewell.     Her  life's 
Last  breath  was  spent  in  that  farewell. 
Her  body  lay  under  the  oak,  whose 
Spreading  branches  caught  up  the  sad 
Refrain,  "  Farewell,  farewell,"  and  gave 
It  back  again  each  eventide. 

Her  spirit  lived  in  a  thousand 
Tongues,  for  where  the  Chippeway  saw 
The  balsam  tree,  he  turned  his  face 
Toward  Wey-do-dosh-she-ma-de-nog, 
As  Mahometan  to  Mecca,  and 
Cried  out  in  reverential  tones, 
"  Mahnusatia  !     Mahnusatia !  " 

It  lives  to-day,  mere  chance  of  fate, 
Perchance,  a  monument  of  fame, 
Than  which  nor  time,  nor  nation,  nor 
People  have  ever  better  built ; 
A  monument  of  State,  that  rears 
Its  regal,  star-crowned  head  above 
Its  sisters',  in  the  grandest,  most 
Glorious  Union,  which  the  world 
Has  ever  known. 

Yet  who  shall  say, 
Who  hath  not  infinite  knowledge, 
It  is  but  fortune's  accident 
That  honors  such  fidelity  ? 
Who,  rather,  shall  not  concede,  that, 
Down  the  path  of  time,  a  fitness, 


"  MAHNUSATIA." 


125 


Everlasting,  perpetuates 
That  sweet,  sweet  Indian  name,  which,  in 
Nobler  accents,  English  spoken, 
Echoes  the  wide,  wide  world  around  : 
"  Minnesota  !     Minnesota ! " 

MJRS.  FANNIE  L.  STONE. 


The  Descending  Star. 

(A  CHIPPEWA  LEGEND.) 


THE  Chieftain  sat  in  his  wigwam  door 

And  smoked  his  evening  pipe, 
While  a  crowd  of  Indian  boys  and  girls, 

Knowing  his  wisdom  ripe, 
Were  begging  him  to  a  story  tell, 

For  votive  offering  brought, 
The  tobacco  loved  by  the  aged  sage ; 

So  he  told  the  tale  they  sought. 

"  There  was  once  a  time  when  the  world  was  filled 

With  a  people  happy,"  he  said : 
"  The  crimson  tide  of  war  rolled  not, 

Nor  against  each  other  led, 
Each  rival  tribe  their  warriors  brave  : 

For  the  nations  were  as  one, 
The  frightful  scourge  that  has  wasted  us 

Had,  happily,  not  begun. 

"  With  game  in  plenty  forest  and  plain 

Abounded.     None  were  in  want 
And  ghastly  famine  never  touched 

The  tribes  with  its  finger  gaunt. 


CARVER'S  CAVE. 


THE  DESCENDING  STAR.  127 

At  the  bidding  of  man  the  beasts  of  the  field 

All  meekly  went  and  came  ; 
For  they  feared  him  not,  nor  reason  had, 

But  all  were  harmless  and  tame. 


"  Unending  spring  for  winter's  blasts 

And  chills  gave  never  a  place  ; 
Each  tree  and  bush  bowed  low  with  fruit 

So  they  needed  not  the  chase. 
A  carpet  of  flowers  covered  the  earth, 

While  the  air  with  their  perfume 
Was  laden.     The  songs  of  mated  birds 

Rose  ever  in  sweetest  tune. 


44  The  earth  was  indeed  a  paradise, 

And  man  was  worthy  to  live 
'Mong  these  delights  in  tranquil  peace 

That  merit  alone  can  give. 
The  Indians — sole  possession  then — 

Roamed  here  and  there  at  will, 
O'er  plains  and  lakes  and  wilderness — 

Ah,  that  it  were  so  still ! 


"  They  numbered  millions,  as  nature  designed, 

Enjoying  her  many  gifts. 
The  sports  of  the  field  were  their  delight ; 

Such  life  the  soul  uplifts. 
They  watched  the  stars  with  loving  gaze, 

And  thought  that  they  must  be 
The  homes  of  the  good,  with  the  Great  Spirit 

In  the  heavens  roaming  free. 


128  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

"  One  night  a  star  shone  strangely  bright, 

Out-shining  all  the  rest. 
At  first  they  deemed  it  far  away, 

Its  nearness  never  guessed. 
Then  some  declared  they  believed  it  stood 

Just  over  the  tree-tops  tall. 
To  solve  the  doubt  a  council  of 

The  wisest  men  they  call. 


"  These  went  one  night  and  found  the  star 

Was  something  like  a  bird. 
It  hovered  just  above  the  trees — 

They  feared,  for  they  had  heard 
From  their  forefathers  that  it  might 

A  bloody  war  foretell, 
And  over  them  a  silent  dread 

Of  some  disaster  fell. 


"  One  moon  had  waned — the  mystery 

No  one  could  solve  or  tell 
If  the  omen  of  their  heavenly  guest 

Foreboded  ill  or  well : 
When  a  warrior  had  a  wondrous  dream, 

A  lovely  maiden  came 
And  stood  by  his  side — in  sweetest  tones, 


She  called  him  by  his  name. 

"  '  I  love  your  beautiful  lakes,'  said  she, 
4  Your  mountains  clothed  in  green, 

In  yonder  sky,  shining  above, 
My  sisters  still  are  seen. 


THE  DESCENDING  STAB.  129 

But  I  have  left  them  to  come  and  live 

Among  your  race,  young  brave  : 
To  find  a  suitable  home  for  me 

Go  ask  your  sages  grave.' 


" '  And  pray  what  form  shall  I  assume 

To  be  best  loved  by  you  ? ' 
The  youth  awoke  and  stepped  from  his  lodge 

The  ominous  star  to  view. 
It  shone  with  undimmed  luster  where 

It  had  stood  for  many  a  day  : 
Yet  he  firmly  believed  it  the  visitor 

His  waking  had  driven  away. 

"  At  early  dawn  the  crier  was  sent 

Around  the  camp  to  call 
The  warriors  at  once  to  the  Council  Lodge, 

And  there  before  them  all, 
The  young  brave  told  his  dream  so  strange. 

For  love,  they  said,  no  doubt 
For  love  of  man  the  star  had  come 

And  wandered  thereabout. 


"  To  welcome  her  to  earth  next  night 
Five  noble  braves  were  sent. 

She  took  the  pipe  of  peace,  which  herbs 
A  sweet  aroma  lent. 

Then  with  expanded  wing  she  came 
And  hovered  near  their  homes, 

Like  one  who  wished  to  be  at  rest 

But  still  unwilling  roams. 
9 


130  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

"  In  dreams  she  asked  the  youth  again  : 

4  Pray  tell  where  I  shall  live, 
And  what  form  now  must  I  assume 

To  most  enjoyment  give  ? ' 
He  could  not  decide,  so  she  was  told 

For  herself  'twere  best  to  choose. 
The  tribe  might  through  their  ignorance 

Her  heavenly  wisdom  lose. 

"  On  the  mountains  first  in  the  pure  white  rose 

She  dwelt ;  but  all  unseen 
By  the  tribe  she  loved  :  so  next  she  went 

To  be  the  prairie's  queen. 
She  trembled  with  fear,  with  ceaseless  dread, 

At  the  hoof  of  the  buffalo  ; 
For  safety  then  a  rocky  cliff 

She  sought  and  glanced  below. 


" '  I  know  where  I  will  live,'  she  said, 

'  Where  glides  the  swift  canoe 
Of  the  race  I  most  admire,  and  where, 

Dear  children,  always  you 
My  playmates  can  be.     I  will  kiss  your  cheeks 

As  you  slumber  by  the  lake. 
Here  with  you  all,  my  best  beloved, 

My  home  I  will  ever  make.' 


"  These  words  she  spoke  and  alighted  soon 

On  the  water's  limpid  breast. 
Looked  down  at  her  image  reflected  there, 

At  last  she  was  at  rest. 


THE  DESCENDING  STAR. 

In  the  morning  sun,  as  pure  as  heaven, 

A  thousand  lilies  basked ; 
For  Wah-be-gwan-nee,  water  lily, 

The  Indian  children  asked. 


"  In  the  southern  sky  this  bright  star  lived ; 

Her  brethren  can  be  seen 
Far  off  in  the  cold  North,  hunting  the  bear : 

Meamvhile,  with  ardor  keen, 
Her  sisters  watch  from  East  and  West, 

And  here,  an  exile  lone, 
She  sees  her  heavenly  kindred  fair 

In  the  home  that  was  her  own. 

"  My  children,  when  the  lilies  pure 

You  pluck  from  the  placid  lake, 
Hold  them  toward  heaven,  their  rightful  home, 

Abandoned  for  your  sake. 
'So  they  may  be  happy  here  on  earth 

As  any  sister  star 
That,  stationed  in  the  summer  sky, 

Gleams  brightly  from  afar." 

IDA  SEXTON  SEAKLS. 


The  Trailing  Arbutus0 

EPIG^EA  KEPENS. 

IN  the  vast,  primeval  forest,  unremembered  moons 

ago, 
When  the  streams  were  dumb  and  palsied,  all  the 

earth  was  white  with  snow, 
When  the   eerie  wind   went  chasing   evil  spirits 

through  the  wood, 
'Neath    the   gaunt   and  leafless  tree-tops,  an  old 

Indian  teepee  stood. 
In  it  lived  an  old  man  only,  with  white  locks  and 

flowing  beard, 
Clad  in  furs  from  head  to  foot-sole,  like  one  to  the 

north-land  reared : 

Weakly  his  scant  fire  resisted  the  dread  storm- 
fiend's  icy  breath, 

And  its  deep,  portentous  rumblings  spoke  of  swift 
approaching  death. 

Crouching  there,  "  O  Mannaboosho,"  cried  he 
through  the  awful  night, 

"  Here  behold  me,  thy  brave  warrior.  I  will  con 
quer  in  thy  might." 


THE  TRAILING  ARBUTUS.  133 

Then  the  lodge  door  softly  opened  and  in  stepped 
a  beauteous  form 

Clad  in  ferns  and  sweet  spring  grasses.  When 
she  breathed,  the  air  grew  warm. 

Large  her  eyes  were,  glowing  brightly,  as  at  night, 
the  lustrous  fawn's. 

Red  her  cheeks  were  like  wild  roses  or  bright  car 
mine-tinted  dawns. 

Long  her  hair  and  black  as  raven's,  trailing  o'er  the 
frozen  ground, 

And  her  hands  with  pussy-willows,  like  close- 
fitting  gloves  were  bound. 

Fair  wild-flowers  crowned  her  tresses  and  her 
dainty  little  feet 

Were  encased  in  two  white  lilies  from  the  great 
lakes  pure  and  sweet. 

Said  the  old  man,  "  Ah,  my  daughter,  I  am  glad  to 

see  you  here. 
Though   my  lodge  is   cold  and  cheerless,  it  will 

shield  you,  never  fear  ; 
But  pray  tell  me,  fearless  maiden,  how  these  icy 

blasts  you  dare 
To  confront  in  such  strange  clothing  ?     Will  you 

not  the  secret  share  ? 

I  am  old  Kabibonokka,  and  my  breath  in  ice  con 
geals. 
When  I  shake  my  locks,  the  snow  falls.     All  the 

earth  my  power  feels. 
Hastily  the  birds  fly  southward  and  the  squirrels 

safely  hide." 
"Ah   how   strange-!"    replied    the    maiden.     "I 

spread  beauty  far  and  wide. 


134  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

When  I  shake  my  raven  tresses,  soft,  warm  rain 

falls  from  the  sky, 
All  the  birds  come  back  a-building  in  the  leafy 

tree-tops  high." 
Thus  they  talked,  but  soon  the  teepee  grew  like 

summer,  strangely  warm, 
And  the  old   man's  head  dropped   listless  o'er  a 

soundly-sleeping  form. 

High  the  sun  rode  in  the  heavens,  and  a  blue 
bird,  pert  and  trim, 
Called   out,    "  Say-ee,    I   am    thirsty ; "    and   the 

rivers  flowed  for  him. 
As  the  old  man  slept,  the  maiden  passed  her  hand 

above  his  head, 
And  he  smaller  grew  and  smaller,  till,  all  mortal 

substance  sped, 
But  a  mass  of  green  leaves  growing  there  remained 

upon  the  earth ; 
And  the  fairy  maiden  stooping,  with  an  air  of  quiet 

mirth, 
Took  pink-tinted  flowers  and  hid  them  all  about 

beneath  the  leaves ; 
And    her  sweet,  fresh  breath    upon  them,  like  a 

spell  she  softly  breathes 
As  she  sings  with  clear,  wild  warblings,  "  of  my 

graces,  I  give  all ; 
And  who  shall  desire  to  pluck  thee,  on  his  bended 

knees  shall  fall." 

Then  as  onward  moved  the  maiden,  through  the 

woods  and  o'er  the  plains, 
All  the  jocund  birds  sang  to  her,  o'er  her  fell  the 

spring-time  rains, 


THE  TRAILING  ARBUTUS. 


135 


And  the  arbutus  in  beauty,  'neath  her  fairy  foot 
steps  sprung. 

Nowhere  else  in  vale  or  woodland  were  the  pre 
cious  seedlets  flung. 

Still  Northern  Minnesota,  near  the  great  unsalted 
sea, 

Trace  we  will  the  maiden's  footsteps  where  these 
self-same  blossoms  be. 

ADELAIDE   GEORGE   BENNET. 


Nopa. 

IN  the  shelter  of  the  forest, 

By  the  cataract's  lonely  brink,  ' 
(Shadow  Falls,  we  call  them  nowadays) 

Where  the  red  deer  came  to  drink, 
Lived  old  Chaska  and  his  daughter 

Nopa,  in  their  tepee  small. 
Handsome  was  this  dusky  maiden, 

Eyes  like  deer  and  form  so  tall. 

"Seche-do — bad  man,"  said  Chaska, 

As  the  moccasin  he  laid  down, 
Ready  for  the  wampum  finish  ; 

Nopa's  skill  his  work  must  crown. 
She  had  told  him  of  an  artist, 

Sunny-haired  with  hand  of  snow, 
Whose  canoe  was  fastened  daily, 

In  the  river  just  below. 

"  Talk  not  to  the  treacherous  white  man," 

Chaska  said,  in  tones  of  wrath, 
"  Harken,  daughter,  to  my  warning ; 

Never  must  he  cross  my  path !  " 
But  poor  Nopa  little  heeded 

Her  old  father's  wise  command ; 
Watching  close,  each  day  and  evening 

For  the  footsteps  in  the  sand. 


NOPA.  137 

Weeks  have  passed  without  his  coming  ; 

Weeks  like  years,  so  full  of  pain 
To  the  Indian  maiden  thinking, 

"  Will  he  never  come  again?  " 
Surely  now  she  hears  his  footsteps 

Where  the  misty  waters  pour. 
Falling  headlong  down  the  chasm : 

Nopa  will  return  no  more . 


Chaska  hears  her  calling  wildly  ; 

Seeks  to  grasp  the  fleeing  form 
Follows  till  the  rushing  waters, 

Swollen  with  the  autumn's  storm, 
Cruel,  cast  his  lifeless  body 

'Mong  the  rocks  and  caverns  wild ; 
Desolate,  the  lonely  tepee 

Waits  the  hunter  and  his  child. 


Now,  in  autumn,  when  the  aster 

Nods  its  purple  plumes  in  pride  ; 
When  the  black-eyed  Susan  coyly 

'Neath  the  gorgeous  sumach  hides ; 
And  the  golden-rod  so  stately, 

To  outshine  all  others  tries; 
In  the  mist  of  early  evening 

Two  dark  forms  are  seen  to  rise. 

Chaska  and  his  dusky  daughter, 
Shades  from  out  the  spirit-land, 

Flitting,  falling,  downward,  downward, 
Till  they  reach  the  shining  sand. 


138  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Vanish  then  beside  the  river, 
Where  her  faithless  lover's  bark 

Once  was  moored.     The  waves,  all  lonely, 
Lap  the  sands  with  shadows  dark. 

IDA  SEXTON  SEAELS. 


The  Sea-Gull.* 

A  LEGEND  OF  LAKE  SUPERIOR.   O  JIB  WAY. 

In  the  measure  of  Hiawatha. 
[The  numerals  refer  to  Notes  to  The  Sea-Gull,  in  Appendix.] 

ON  the  shore  of  Gitchee  Gumee2 — 
Deep,  mysterious,  mighty  waters — 
Where  the  m&nitoes — the  spirits — 
Ride  the  storms  and  speak  in  thunder, 
In  the  days  of  Ne*m£-Sh<5mis,3 
In  the  days  that  are  forgotten, 
Dwelt  a  tall  and  tawny  hunter — 
Gitchee  P^z-ze-u — the  Panther, 
Son  of  Waub-Ojeeg,4  the  warrior, 
Famous  Waub-Ojeeg,  the  warrior. 
Strong  was  he  and  fleet  as  roebuck, 
Brave  was  he  and  very  stealthy ; 
On  the  deer  crept  like  a  panther ; 
Grappled  with  Makwa,5  the  monster, 
Grappled  with  the  bear  and  conquered ; 
Took  his  black  claws  for  a  necklet, 
Took  his  black  hide  for  a  blanket. 


140  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

When  the  Panther  wed  the  Sea-Gull, 

Young  was  he  and  very  gladsome  ; 

Fair  was  she  and  full  of  laughter  ; 

Like  the  robin  in  the  spring-time, 

Sang  from  sunrise  till  the  sunset ; 

For  she  loved  the  handsome  hunter. 

Deep  as  Gitchee  Gumee's  waters 

Was  her  love — as  broad  and  boundless ; 

And  the  wedded  twain  were  happy — 

Happy  as  the  mated  robins. 

When  their  first-born  saw  the  sunlight 

Joyful  was  the  heart  of  Panther, 

Proud  and  joyful  was  the  mother, 

All  the  days  were  full  of  sunshine, 

All  the  nights  were  full  of  starlight. 

Nightly  from  the  land  of  spirits 

On  them  smiled  the  starry  faces — 

Faces  of  their  friends  departed. 

Little  moccasins  she  made  him, 

Feathered  cap  and  belt  of  wampum 

From  the  hide  of  fawn  a  blanket, 

Fringed  with  feathers,  soft  as  sable  ; 

Singing  at  her  pleasant  labor, 

By  her  side  the  tekenagun,6 

And  the  little  hunter  in  it. 

Oft  the  Panther  smiled  and  fondled, 

Smiled  upon  the  babe  and  mother, 

Frolicked  with  the  boy  and  fondled. 

Tall  he  grew  and  like  his  father, 

And  they  called  the  boy  the  Raven — 

Called  him  Kak-k&h-gS— the  Raven. 

Happy  hunter  was  the  Panther. 

From  the  woods  he  brought  the  pheasant, 


WELCOME  ISLAND,    THUNDER  BA.Y. 


THE  SEA-GULL.  141 

Brought  the  red-deer  and  the  rabbit, 
Brought  the  trout  from  Gitchee  Gumee — • 
Brought  the  mallard  from  the  marshes — 
Royal  least  for  boy  and  mother : 
Brought  the  hides  of  fox  and  beaver, 
Brought  the  skins  of  mink  and  otter, 
Lured  the  loon  and  took  his  blanket, 
Took  his  blanket  for  the  Raven. 
Winter  swiftly  followed  winter, 
And  again  the  tekenagun 
Held  a  babe — a  tawny  daughter, 
Held  a  dark-eyed,  dimpled  daughter; 
And  they  called  her  Waub-omee*-me6 — 
Thus  they  named  her — the  White-Pigeon. 
But  as  winter  followed  winter 
Cold  and  sullen  grew  the  Panther ; 
Sat  and  smoked  his  pipe  in  silence ; 
When  he  spoke  he  spoke  in  anger ; 
In  the  forest  often  tarried 
Many  days,  and  homeward  turning, 
Brought  no  game  unto  his  wigwam ; 
Only  brought  his  empty  quiver, 
Brought  his  dark  and  sullen  visage. 

Sad  at  heart  and  very  lonely 
Sat  the  Sea-Gull  in  the  wigwam ; 
Sat  and  swung  the  tekenagun 
Sat  and  sang  to  Waub-omee*-me£ : 
Thus  she  sang  to  Waub-ome^-mee', 
Thus  the  lullaby  she  chanted : 

Wa-wa,  wa-wa,  wd-we-yea; 
Kah-we*en,  nee-zhe*ka  kd-diaus-ai, 


142  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Ke-g&h  nau-wai,  ne-me*-go  s'we*en, 
Ne-baun,  ne-baun,  ne-daun-is  ais, 
Wa-wa,  wa-wa,  wa-we-yea ; 
Ne-baun,  ne-baun,  ne-daun-is-ais, 
E-we  wa-wa,  wa-we-yea, 
E-we  wa-wa,  wa-we-yea. 

TRANSLATION  : 

Swing,  swing,  little  one,  lullaby ; 
Thou'rt  not  left  alone  to  weep ; 
Mother  cares  for  you — she  is  nigh  ; 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sweetly  sleep ; 
Swing,  swing,  little  one,  lullaby ; 
Mother  watches  you — she  is  nigh ; 
Gently,  gently,  wee  one,  swing ; 
Gently,  gently,  while  I  sing 
E-we  wa-wa — lullaby, 
E-we  wa-wa — lullaby. 

Homeward  to  his  lodge  returning 
Kindly  greeting  found  the  hunter, 
Fire  to  warm  and  food  to  nourish, 
Golden  trout  from  Gitchee  Gumee, 
Caught  by  Kah-kah-ge— the  Raven. 
With  a  snare  he  caught  the  rabbit- 
Caught  Wabose,7  the  furry-footed, 
Caught  Penay,7  the  forest-drummer; 
Sometimes,  with  his  bow  and  arrows, 
Shot  the  red-deer  in  the  forest, 
Shot  the  squirrel  in  the  pine-top, 
Shot  Ne-ka,  the  wild-goose,  flying. 
Proud  as  Waub-Ojeeg,  the  warrior, 


THE  SEA-GULL.  143 

To  the  lodge  he  bore  his  trophies. 

So  when  homeward  turned  the  Panther, 

Ever  found  he  food  provided, 

Found  the  lodge-fire  brightly  burning, 

Found  the  faithful  Sea- Gull  waiting, 

"  You  are  cold,"  she  said,  "  and  famished ; 

Here  are  fire  and  food,  my  husband." 

Not  by  word  or  look  he  answered  ; 

Only  ate  the  food  provided, 

Filled  his  pipe  and  pensive  puffed  it, 

Sat  and  smoked  in  sullen  silence. 

Once — her  dark  eyes  full  of  hunger — 

Thus  she  spoke  and  thus  besought  him : 

"  Tell  me,  O  my  silent  Panther, 

Tell  me,  O  beloved  husband, 

What  has  made  you  sad  and  sullen  ? 

Have  you  met  some  evil  spirit — 

Met  some  goblin  in  the  forest  ? 

Has  he  put  a  spell  upon  you — 

Filled  your  heart  with  bitter  waters, 

That  you  sit  so  sad  and  sullen, 

Sit  and  smoke,  but  never  answer, 

Only  when  the  storm  is  on  you  ?  " 

Gruffly  then  the  Panther  answered : 
"  Brave  among  the  brave  is  Panther 
Son  of  Waub-Ojeeg,  the  warrior, 
And  the  brave  are  ever  silent ; 
But  a  whining  dog  is  woman, 
Whining  ever  like  a  coward." 
Forth  into  the  tangled  forest, 
Threading  through  the  thorny  thickets, 
Treading  trails  on  marsh  and  meadow, 


144  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Sullen  strode  the  moody  hunter. 
Saw  he  not  the  bear  or  beaver, 
Saw  he  not  the  elk  or  roebuck ; 
From  his  path  the  red-fawn  scampered, 
But  no  arrow  followed  after  ; 
From  his  den  the  sly  wolf  listened, 
But  no  twang  of  bow-string  heard  he. 
Like  one  walking  in  his  slumber, 
Listless,  dreaming,  walked  the  Panther; 
Surely  had  some  witch  bewitched  him, 
Some  bad  spirit  of  the  forest. 

When  the  Sea-Gull  wed  the  Panther, 

Fair  was  she  and  full  of  laughter ; 

Like  the  robin  in  the  spring-time, 

Sang  from  sunrise  till  the  sunset ; 

But  the  storms  of  many  winters 

Sifted  frost  upon  her  tresses, 

Seamed  her  tawny  face  with  wrinkles, 

Not  alone  the  storms  of  winters 

Seamed  her  tawny  face  with  wrinkles. 

Twenty  winters  for  the  Panther 

Had  she  ruled  the  humble  wigwam ; 

For  her  haughty  lord  and  master 

Borne  the  burdens  on  the  journey, 

Gathered  fagots  for  the  lodge-fire, 

Tanned  the  skins  of  bear  and  beaver, 

Tanned  the  hides  of  moose  and  red-deer ; 

Made  him  moccasins  and  leggins, 

Decked  his  hood  with  quills  and  feathers — 

Colored  quills  of  Kaug,8  the  thorny, 

Feathers  from  Kendw,8  the  eagle. 

For  a  warrior  brave  was  Panther ; 


THE  SEA-GULL.  145 

Often  had  he  met  the  foemen, 
Met  the  bold  and  fierce  Dakotas, 
Westward  on  the  war-path  met  them ; 
And  the  scalps  he  won  were  numbered, 
Numbered  seven  by  KeneV-feathers. 
Sad  at  heart  was  Sea-Gull  waiting, 
Watching,  waiting  in  the  wigwam  : 
Not  alone  the  storms  of  winters 
Sifted  frost  upon  her  tresses. 

Ka-be-b6n-ik-ka,  the  mighty,9 
He  that  sends  the  cruel  winter, 
He  that  turned  to  stone  the  Giant, 
From  the  distant  Thunder-mountain, 
Far  across  broad  Gitchee  Gumee, 
Sent  his  warning  of  the  winter, 
Sent  the  white  frost  and  Kevvaydin,10 
Sent  the  swift  and  hungry  North-wind. 
Homeward  to  the  South  the  Summer 
Turned  and  fled  the  naked  forests. 
With  the  Summer  flew  the  robin, 
Flew  the  bobolink  and  blue-bird. 
Flock-wise  following  chosen  leaders, 
Like  the  shaftless  heads  of  arrows 
Southward  cleaving  through  the  ether, 
Soon  the  wild-geese  followed  after. 
One  long  moon  the  Sea-Gull  waited, 
Watched  and  waited  for  her  husband, 
Till  at  last  she  heard  his  footsteps, 
Heard  him  coming  through  the  thicket. 
Forth  she  went  to  meet  her  husband, 
Joyful  went  to  greet  her  husband. 

Lo  behind  the  haughty  hunter, 
10 


146  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Closely  following  in  his  footsteps, 
Walked  a  young  and  handsome  woman, 
Walked  the  Red  Fox  from  the  island — 
Gitchee  Menis — the  Grand  Island — 
Followed  him  into  the  wigwam, 
Proudly  took  her  seat  beside  him. 
On  the  Red  Fox  smiled  the  hunter, 
On  the  hunter  smiled  the  woman. 

Old  and  wrinkled  was  the  Sea-Gull, 
Good  and  true,  but  old  and  wrinkled. 
Twenty  winters  for  the  Panther 
Had  she  ruled  the  humble  wigwam, 
Borne  the  burdens  on  the  journey, 
Gathered  fagots  for  the  lodge-fire, 
Tanned  the  skins  of  bear  and  beaver, 
Tanned  the  hides  of  moose  and  red-deer, 
Made  him  moccasins  and  leggins,     . 
Decked  his  hood  with  quills  and  feathers, 
Colored  quills  of  Kaug,  the  thorny, 
Feathers  from  the  great  war-eagle  ; 
Ever  diligent  and  faithful, 
Ever  patient,  ne'er  complaining. 
But  like  all  brave  men  the  Panther 
Loved  a  young  and  handsome  woman ; 
So  he  dallied  with  the  danger, 
Dallied  with  the  fair  Alg6nkin,u 
Till  a  magic  mead  she  gave  him, 
Brewed  of  buds  of  birch  and  cedar,12 
Madly  then  he  loved  the  woman ; 
Then  she  ruled  him,  then  she  held  him 
Tangled  in  her  raven  tresses, 
Tied  and  tangled  in  her  tresses. 


IHE  SEA-GULL.  147 

Ah,  the  tall  and  tawny  Panther ! 
Ah,  the  brave  and  brawny  Panther ! 
Son  of  Waub-Ojeeg,  the  warrior ! 
With  a  slender  hair  she  led  him, 
With  a  slender  hair  she  drew  him, 
Drew  him  often  to  her  wigwam  ; 
There  she  bound  him,  there  she  held  him 
Tangled  in  her  raven  tresses, 
Tied  and  tangled  in  her  tresses. 
Ah,  the  best  of  men  are  tangled— 
Sometimes  tangled  in  the  tresses 
Of  a  fair  and  crafty  woman. 

So  the  Panther  wed  the  Red  Fox, 
And  she  followed  to  his  wigwam. 
Young  again  he  seemed  and  gladsome, 
Glad  as  Raven  when  the  father 
Made  his  first  bow  from  the  elm-tree, 
From  the  ash-tree  made  his  arrows, 
Taught  him  how  to  aim  his  arrows, 
How  to  shoot  Wab6se — the  rabbit. 
Then  again  the  brawny  hunter 
Brought  the  black  bear  and  the  beaver, 
Brought  the  haunch  of  elk  and  red-deer, 
Brought  the  rabbit  and  the  pheasant — 
Choicest  bits  of  all  for  Red  Fox. 
For  her  robes  he  brought  the  sable, 
Brought  the  otter  and  the  ermine, 
Brought  the  black-fox  tipped  with  silver. 

But  the  Sea-Gull  murmured  never, 
Not  a  word  she  spoke  in  anger, 
Went  about  her  work  as  ever, 


148  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Tanned  the  skins  of  bear  and  beaver, 
Tanned  the  hides  of  moose  and  red-deer, 
Gathered  fagots  for  the  lodge  fire, 
Gathered  rushes  from  the  marshes  ; 
Deftly  into  mats  she  wove  them  ; 
Kept  the  lodge  as  bright  as  ever. 
Only  to  herself  she  murmured, 
All  alone  with  Waub-omee'-mee'. 
On  the  tall  and  toppling  highland, 
O'er  the  wilderness  of  waters  ; 
Murmured  to  the  murmuring  waters, 
Murmured  to  the  Ne*be-n&w-baigs — 
To  the  spirits  of  the  waters ; 
On  the  wild  waves  poured  her  sorrow. 
Save  the  infant  on  her  bosom 
With  her  dark  eyes  wide  with  wonder, 
None  to  hear  her  but  the  spirits, 
And  the  murmuring  pines  above  her. 
Thus  she  cast  away  her  burdens, 
Cast  her  burdens  on  the  waters  ; 
Thus  unto  the  good  Great  Spirit, 
Made  her  lowly  lamentation : 
"  Wahon<5win  ! — Wahon6win  ! 13 
Gitchee  Manito,  bena-nin  ! 
Nah,  Ba-b&,  showain  neme'shin  ! 
Wahontfwin ! — Wahon6win  ! " 

Ka-be-b6n-fk-ka,9  the  mighty, 
He  that  sends  the  cruel  winter, 
From  the  distant  Thunder-mountain 
On  the  shore  of  Gitchee  Gumee, 
On  the  rugged  northern  border, 
Sent  his  solemn,  final  warning, 


THE  SEA-GULL.  149 

Sent  the  white  wolves  of  the  Nor'land.14 

Like  the  dust  of  stars  in  ether — 

In  the  Pathway  of  the  Spirits,15 

Like  the  sparkling  dust  of  diamonds, 

Fell  the  frost  upon  the  forest, 

On  the  mountains  and  the  meadows, 

On  the  wilderness  of  woodland, 

On  the  wilderness  of  waters. 

All  the  lingering  fowls  departed — 

All  that  seek  the  South  in  winter, 

All  but  Shingebis,  the  diver  ; 16 

He  defies  the  Winter-maker, 

Sits  and  laughs  at  Winter-maker. 


Ka-be-bdn-lk-ka,  the  mighty, 
From  his  wigwam  called  Kewaydin — 
From  his  home  among  the  icebergs, 
From  the  sea  of  frozen  waters, 
Called  the  swift  and  hungry  North-wind, 
Then  he  spread  his  mighty  pinions 
Over  all  the  land  and  shook  them. 
Like  the  whie  down  of  Waube*s£  17 
Fell  the  feathery  snow  and  covered 
All  the  marshes  and  the  meadows, 
All  the  hill-tops  and  the  highlands. 
Then  old  P£bo&n18 — the  winter- 
Laughed  along  the  stormy  waters, 
Danced  upon  the  windy  headlands, 
On  the  storm  his  white  hair  streaming, 
And  his  steaming  breath,  ascending, 
On  the  pine-tops  and  the  cedars 
Fell  in  frosty  mists  of  silver, 


150  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Sprinkling  spruce  and  fir  with  silver, 
Sprinkling  all  the  woods  with  silver. 

By  the  lodge-fire  all  the  winter 
Sat  the  Sea-Gull  and  the  Red  Fox, 
Sat  and  kindly  spoke  and  chatted, 
Till  the  twain  seemed  friends  together. 
Friends  they  seemed  in  word  and  action, 
But  within  the  breast  of  either 
Smoldered  still  the  baneful  embers — 
Fires  of  jealousy  and  hatred — 
Like  a  camp-fire  in  the  forest 
Left  by  hunters  and  deserted ; 
Only  seems  a  bed  of  ashes, 
But  the  East  wind,  Wabun-no6din, 
Scatters  through  the  woods  the  ashes, 
Fans  to  flame  the  sleeping  embers, 
And  the  wild-fire  roars  and  rages, 
Roars  and  rages  through  the  forest. 
So  the  baneful  embers  smoldered, 
Smoldered  in  the  breast  of  either. 

From  the  far-off  Sunny  Islands, 
From  the  pleasant  land  of  Summer, 
Where  the  spirits  of  the  blessed 
Feel  no  more  the  fangs  of  hunger, 
Or  the  cold  breath  of  Kewaydin, 
Came  a  stately  youth  and  handsome, 
Came  Segun,19  the  foe  of  Winter. 
Like  the  rising  sun  his  face  was, 
Like  the  shining  stars  his  eyes  were, 
Light  his  footsteps  as  the  Morning's, 
In  his  hand  were  buds  and  blossoms, 


THE  SEA-GULL.  151 

On  his  brow  a  blooming  garland. 
Straightway  to  the  icy  wigwam 
Of  old  Peboan,  the  Winter, 
Strode  Segun  and  quickly  entered. 
There  old  P£bo&n  sat  and  shivered, 
Shivered  o'er  his  dying  lodge-fire. 

"  Ah,  my  son,  I  bid  you  welcome ; 
Sit  and  tell  me  your  adventures  ; 
I  will  tell  you  of  my  power ; 
We  will  pass  the  night  together." 
Thus  spake  Peboan— the  Winter; 
Then  he  filled  his  pipe  and  lighted ; 
Then  by  sacred  custom  raised  it 
To  the  spirits  in  the  ether ; 
To  the  spirits  in  the  caverns 
Of  the  hollow  earth  he  lowered  it. 
Thus  he  passed  it  to  the  spirits, 
And  the  unseen  spirits  puffed  it. 
Next  himself  old  Pe*boan  honored; 
Thrice  he  puffed  his  pipe  and  passed  it, 
Passed  it  to  the  handsome  stranger. 

"  Lo  I  blow  my  breath,"  said  Winter, 
"  And  the  laughing  brooks  are  silent. 
Hard  as  flint  become  the  waters, 
And  the  rabbit  runs  upon  them." 

Then  Segun,  the  fair  youth,  answered : 

"  Lo,  I  breathe  upon  the  hillsides, 

On  the  valleys  and  the  meadows, 

And  behold,  as  if  by  magic — 

By  the  magic  of  the  spirits, 

Spring  the  flowers  and  tender  grasses." 


^  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Then  old  P£boan  replying  : 
"  Nah  !  20  I  breathe  upon  the  forests, 
And  the  leaves  fall  sere  and  yellow ; 
Then  I  shake  my  locks  and  snow  falls, 
Covering  all  the  naked  landscape." 

Then  Segun  arose  and  answered : 
"NasMcS!  2°— see  !— I  shake  my  ringlets  ; 
On  the  earth  the  warm  rain  f alleth, 
And  the  flowers  look  up  like  children 
Glad-eyed  from  their  mother's  bosom. 
Lo,  my  voice  recalls  the  robin, 
Brings  the  bobolink  and  bluebird, 
And  the  woods  are  full  of  music. 
With  my  breath  I  melt  their  fetters, 
And  the  brooks  leap  laughing  onward." 

Then  old  P£boan  looked  upon  him, 
Looked  and  knew  Segun,  the  Summer, 
From  his  eyes  the  big  tears  started 
And  his  boastful  tongue  was  silent. 
Now  Keezis — the  great  life-giver, 
From  his  wigwam  in  Waubu-nong  21 
Rose  and  wrapped  his  shining  blanket 
Round  his  giant  form  and  started, 
Westward  started  on  his  journey, 
Striding  on  from  hill  to  hill-top. 
Upward  then  he  climbed  the  ether— 
On  the  Bridge  of  Stars  ^  he  traveled, 
Westward  traveled  on  his  journey 
To  the  far-off  Sunset  Mountains — 
To  the  gloomy  land  of  shadows. 


THE  SEA-GULL.  153 

On  the  lodge-poles  sang  the  robin — 
And  the  brooks  began  to  murmur. 
On  the  South-wind  floated  fragrance 
Of  the  early  buds  and  blossoms. 
From  old  Pdboan's  eyes  the  tear-drops 
Down  his  pale  face  ran  in  streamlets ; 
Less  and  less  he  grew  in  stature 
Till  he  melted  down  to  nothing  ; 
And  behold,  from  out  the  ashes, 
From  the  ashes  of  his  lodge-fire, 
Sprang  the  Miscodeed  23  and,  blushing, 
Welcomed  Segun  to  the  North-land. 

So  from  Sunny  Isles  returning, 
From  the  Summer-Land  of  spirits, 
On  the  poles  of  Panther's  wigwam 
Sang  Ope^-chee — sang  the  robin. 
In  the  maples  cooed  the  pigeons — 
Cooed  and  wooed  like  silly  lovers. 
"  Hah  ! — hah  !  "  laughed  the  crow  derisive, 
In  the  pine-top,  at  their  folly- 
Laughed  and  jeered  the  silly  lovers. 
Blind  with  love  were  they,  and  saw  not ; 
Deaf  to  all  but  love,  and  heard  not ; 
So  they  cooed  and  wooed  unheeding, 
Till  the  gray  hawk  pounced  upon  them, 
And  the  old  crow  shook  with  laughter. 

On  the  tall  cliff  by  the  sea-shore 
Red  Fox  made  a  swing.     She  fastened 
Thongs  of  moose-hide  to  the  pine-tree, 
To  the  strong  arm  of  the  pine-tree. 


154  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Like  a  hawk,  above  the  waters, 
There  she  swung  herself  and  fluttered, 
Laughing  at  the  thought  of  danger, 
Swung  and  fluttered  o'er  the  waters. 
Then  she  bantered  Sea-Gull,  saying, 
"  See  !  — I  swing  above  the  billows ! 
Dare  you  swing  above  the  billows- 
Swing  like  me  above  the  billows  ?  " 


To  herself  said  Sea-Gull—"  Surely 

I  will  dare  whatever  danger 

Dares  the  Red  Fox — dares  my  rival ; 

She  shall  never  call  me  coward." 

So  she  swung  above  the  waters — 

Dizzy  height  above  the  waters, 

Pushed  and  aided  by  her  rival, 

To  and  fro  with  reckless  daring, 

Till  the  strong  tree  rocked  and  trembled, 

Rocked  and  trembled  with  its  burden. 

As  above  the  yawning  billows 

Flew  the  Sea-Gull  like  a  whirlwind, 

Red  Fox,  swifter  than  red  lightning, 

Cut  the  thongs,  and  headlong  downward, 

Like  an  osprey  from  the  ether, 

Like  a  wild-goose  pierced  with  arrows, 

Fluttering  fell  the  frantic  woman, 

Fluttering  fell  into  the  waters — 

Plunged  and  sunk  beneath  the  waters ! 

Hark  !— the  wailing  of  the  West-wind ! 

Hark !  • — the  wailing  of  the  waters, 

And  the  beating  of  the  billows ! 

But  no  more  the  voice  of  Sea-Gull. 


THE  SEA-GULL.  155 


In  the  wigwam  sat  the  Red  Fox, 

Hushed  the  wail  of  Waub-omee*-mee*, 

Weeping  for  her  absent  mother. 

With  the  twinkling  stars  the  hunter 

From  the  forest  came  and  Raven. 

"  Sea-Gull  wanders  late,"  said  Red  Fox, 

"  Late  she  wanders  by  the  sea-shore, 

And  some  evil  may  befall  her." 

In  the  misty  morning  twilight 

Forth  went  Panther  and  the  Raven, 

Searched  the  forest  and  the  marshes, 

Searched  for  leagues  along  the  lake-shore, 

But  they  found  no  trace  or  tidings, 

Found  no  track  in  marsh  or  meadow, 

Found  no  trail  in  fen  or  forest, 

On  the  shore-sand  found  no  footprints. 

Many  days  they  sought  and  found  not. 

Then  to  Panther  spoke  the  Raven : 

"  She  is  in  the  Land  of  Spirits — 

Surely  in  the  Land  of  Spirits. 

High  at  midnight  I  beheld  her — 

Like  a  flying  star  beheld  her — 

To  the  waves  of  Gitchee  Gumee 

Downward  flashing  through  the  ether 

Thus  she  flashed  that  I  might  see  her, 

See  and  know  my  mother's  spirit ; 

Thus  she  pointed  to  the  waters, 

And  beneath  them  lies  her  body, 

In  the  wigwam  of  the  spirits — 

In  the  lodge  of  Nebe-naw-baigs."24 

Then  spoke  Panther  to  the  Raven : 
"  On  the  tall  cliff  by  the  waters 


156  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Wait  and  watch  with  Waub-omee'-mee*. 
If  the  Sea-Gull  hear  the  wailing 
Of  her  infant  she  will  answer." 

On  the  tall  cliff  by  the  waters 
So  the  Raven  watched  and  waited ; 
All  the  day  he  watched  and  waited, 
But  the  hungry  infant  slumbered, 
Slumbered  by  the  side  of  Raven, 
Till  the  pines'  gigantic  shadows 
Stretched  and  pointed  to  Waubu-nong 
To  the  far-off  land  of  Sunrise  ; 
Then  the  wee  one  woke  and,  famished, 
Made  a  long  and  piteous  wailing. 


From  afar  where  sky  and  waters 
Meet  in  misty  haze  and  mingle, 
Straight  toward  the  rocky  highland, 
Straight  as  flies  the  feathered  arrow, 
Straight  to  Raven  and  the  infant, 
Swiftly  flew  a  snow-white  sea-gull — 
Flew  and  touched  the  earth  a  woman. 
And  behold,  the  long-lost  mother 
Caught  her  wailing  child  and  nursed  her. 

Thrice  was  wound  a  chain  of  silver 
Round  her  waist  and  strongly  fastened. 
Far  away  into  the  waters — 
To  the  wigwam  of  the  spirits — 
To  the  lodge  of  Nebe-n&w-baigs — 
Stretched  the  magic  chain  of  silver. 
Spoke  the  mother  to  the  Raven : 


THE  SEA-GULL.  157 

"  O  my  son — my  brave  young  hunter, 
Feed  my  tender  little  orphan  ; 
Be  a  father  to  my  orphan; 
Be  a  mother  to  my  orphan — 
For  the  crafty  Red  Fox  robbed  us — 
Robbed  the  Sea-Gull  of  her  husband, 
Robbed  the  infant  of  her  mother. 
From  this  cliff  the  treacherous  woman 
Headlong  into  Gitchee  Gumee 
Plunged  the  mother  of  my  orphan. 
Then  a  Nebe-naw-baig  caught  me — 
Chief  of  all  the  Nebe-n&w-baigs — 
Took  me  to  his  shining  wigwam, 
In  the  cavern  of  the  waters, 
Deep  beneath  the  mighty  waters. 
All  below  is  burnished  copper, 
All  above  is  burnished  silver 
Gemmed  with  amethyst  and  agates. 
As  his  wife  the  Spirit  holds  me  ; 
By  this  silver  chain  he  holds  me. 

"  When  my  little  one  is  famished, 
When  with  long  and  piteous  wailing 
Cries  the  orphan  for  her  mother, 
Hither  bring  her,  O  my  Raven  ; 
I  will  hear  her — I  will  answer. 
Now  the  Nebe-naw-baig  calls  me — 
Pulls  the  chain — I  must  obey  him." 
Thus  she  spoke,  and  in  the  twinkling 
Of  a  star  the  spirit- woman 
Changed  into  a  snow-white  sea-gull, 
Spread  her  wings  and  o'er  the  waters 
Swiftly  flew  and  swiftly  vanished. 


158  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Then  in  secret  to  the  Panther 
Raven  told  his  tale  of  wonder. 
Sad  and  sullen  was  the  hunter ; 
Sorrow  gnawed  his  heart  like  hunger ; 
All  the  old  love  came  upon  him, 
And  the  new  love  was  a  hatred. 
Hateful  to  his  heart  was  Red  Fox, 
But  he  kept  from  her  the  secret- 
Kept  his  knowledge  of  the  murder. 
Vain  was  she  and  very  haughty — 
Oge-ma-kwa25  of  the  wigwam. 
All  in  vain  her  fond  caresses 
On  the  Panther  now  she  lavished  ; 
When  she  smiled  his  face  was  sullen, 
When  she  laughed  he  frowned  upon  her ; 
In  her  net  of  raven  tresses 
Now  no  more  she  held  him  tangled. 
Now  through  all  her  fair  disguises 
Panther  saw  an  evil  spirit, 
Saw  the  false  heart  of  the  woman. 


On  the  tall  cliff  o'er  the  waters 
Raven  sat  with  Waub-omeeVmee*, 
Sat  and  watched  again  and  waited, 
Till  the  wee  one,  faint  and  famished, 
Made  a  long  and  piteous  wailing. 
Then  again  the  snow-white  Sea-Gull, 
From  afar  where  sky  and  waters 
Meet  in  misty  haze  and  mingle, 
Straight  toward  the  rocky  highland, 
Straight  as  flies  the  feathered  arrow, 
Straight  to  Raven  and  the  infant, 


THE  SEA-GULL.  159 

With  the  silver  chain  around  her, 
Flew  and  touched  the  earth  a  woman. 

In  her  arms  she  caught  her  infant — 
Caught  the  wailing  Waub-omee'-mee*, 
Sang  a  lullaby  and  nursed  her. 
Sprang  the  Panther  from  the  thicket — 
Sprang  and  broke  the  chain  of  silver ! 
With  his  tomahawk  he  broke  it. 
Thus  he  freed  the  willing  Sea-Gull — 
From  the  Water-Spirit  freed  her, 
From  the  Chief  of  Nebe-naw-baigs. 

Very  angry  was  the  Spirit ; 
When  he  drew  the  chain  of  silver, 
Drew  and  found  that  it  was  broken, 
Found  that  he  had  lost  the  woman, 
Very  angry  was  the  Spirit. 
Then  he  raged  beneath  the  waters, 
Raged  and  smote  the  mighty  waters, 
Till  the  big  sea  boiled  and  bubbled, 
Till  the  white-haired,  bounding  billows 
Roared  around  the  rocky  headlands, 
Rolled  and  roared  upon  the  shingle. 

To  the  wigwam  happy  Panther, 
As  when  first  he  wooed  and  won  her 
Led  his  wife — as  young  and  handsome. 
For  the  waves  of  Gitchee  Gumee 
Washed  away  the  frost  and  wrinkles, 
And  the  spirits  by  their  magic 
Made  her  young  and  fair  forever. 


160  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

In  the  wigwam  sat  the  Red  Fox 
Sat  and  sang  a  song  of  triumph, 
For  she  little  dreamed  of  danger, 
Till  the  haughty  hunter  entered, 
Followed  by  the  happy  mother, 
Holding  in  her  arms  her  infant. 

When  the  Red  Fox  saw  the  Sea-Gull — 
Saw  the  dead  a  living  woman, 
One  wild  cry  she  gave  despairing, 
One  wild  cry  as  of  a  demon. 
Up  she  sprang  and  from  the  wigwam 
To  the  tall  cliff  flew  in  terror ; 
Frantic  sprang  upon  the  margin, 
Frantic  plunged  into  the  waters, 
Headlong  plunged  into  the  waters. 

Dead  she  tossed  upon  the  billows  ; 

For  the  Nebe-naw-baigs  knew  her, 

Knew  the  crafty,  wicked  woman, 

And  they  cast  her  from  the  waters, 

Spurned  her  from  their  shining  wigwams ; 

Far  away  upon  the  shingle 

With  the  roaring  waves  they  cast  her. 

There  upon  her  bloated  body 

Fed  the  cawing  crows  and  ravens, 

Fed  the  hungry  wolves  and  foxes. 

On  the  shore  of  Gitchee  Gumee, 
Ever  young  and  ever  handsome, 
Long  and  happy  lived  the  Sea-Gull, 
Long  and  happy  with  the  Panther. 
Evermore  the  happy  hunter 


THE  SEA-GULL.  161 

Loved  the  mother  of  his  children. 
Like  a  red  star  many  winters 
Blazed  their  lodge-fire  on  the  sea-shore. 
O'er  the  Bridge  of  Souls  ^  together 
Walked  the  Sea-Gull  and  the  Panther. 
To  the  far-off  Sunny  Islands— 
To  the  Summer-Land  of  Spirits, 
Sea-Gull  journeyed  with  her  husband — 
Where  no  more  the  happy  hunter 
Feels  the  fangs  of  frost  or  famine, 
Or  the  keen  blasts  of  Kewaydin, 
Where  no  pain  or  sorrow  enters, 
And  no  crafty,  wicked  woman. 
There  she  rules  his  lodge  forever, 
And  the  twain  are  very  happy, 
On  the  far-off  Sunny  Islands, 
In  the  Summer-Land  of  Spirits. 
On  the  rocks  of  Gitchee  Gumee — 
On  the  Pictured  Rocks — the  legend 
Long  ago  was  traced  and  written, 
Pictured  by  the  Water-Spirits  ; 
But  the  storms  of  many  winters 
Have  bedimmed  the  pictured  story, 
So  that  none  can  read  the  legend 
But  the  Jossakeeds, 27  the  prophets. 


Sweet  Water. 

. 

A  LEGEND  OF  DAHKOTAH  LAND. 

WITHIN  the  forest,  by  a  crystal  spring 

Where  I,  a  weary  hunter,  paused  to  fling 

My  form  at  length  upon  the  velvet  bank, 

And  from  the  cool,  delicious  water  drank 

A  draught  so  comforting  it  well  might  seem 

The  fabled  fount  of  Ponce  de  Leon's  dream, 

I  met  an  aged  half-breed,  on  whose  cheek 

The  marks  of  seasons  wild  and  winters  bleak 

Were  softened  by  the  warm  light  from  the  west — 

Sunset— the  last  day-beauty,  and  the  best ! 

Beside  the  spring  he  sat  and  gazed  and  dreamed 

In  melancholy  silence,  till  it  seemed 

His  very  soul  was  pouring  from  his  eyes 

And  melting  in  that  mirror,  where  the  skies 

Were  glassed  in  all  their  purity,  and  where 

No  ripple  reached  the  surface  from  the  fair 

White  bosom  of  the  palpitating  sand, — 

A  constant  flowing  breast  o'er  Nature's  grand, 

Tender,  never  weary  heart !     'Twas  life 

Of  her  life  which  I  quaffed  ;  'twas  sweet,  and  rife 

With  flavor  from  foundations  of  her  hills : 


SWEET  WATEE.  163 

'Twas  strong  with  her  strength ;  throbbing  with 

her  thrills ; 

Enriched  with  her  untainted  blood ;  a  part 
Of  that  divinity  which  rules  my  heart ! 
Thus  when  at  last  I  drew  my  lips  away, 
And  in  the  quiet  of  the  closing  day 
Gave  voice  to  my  delight,  the  old  man  turned 
To  meet  my  glance.     His  deep  eyes  lit  and  burned 
With  growing  brightness,  and  he  softly  said : 
"  This  spring  is  sacred  for  the  holy  dead ; 
The  spirit  of  Sweet  Water  lingers  here ; 
The  powers  of  mystery  and  reverent  fear 
And  lovely  death  brood  o'er  this  sleeping  wave — 
A  monument  for  one  who  had  no  grave." 
Forthwith  he  poured  into  my  willing  ear 
A  tale  so  wondrous  I  must  tell  it  here  : 

One  morning  in  the  strawberry  moon, 
Her  heart  with  Nature's  heart  in  tune 
A  maid  went  forth  to  meet  the  sun. 
That  wonderous  alchemist  of  day 
With  mystic  pigments  had  begun 
To  tint  the  dark  with  twilight  gray ; 
On  mystic  fans  the  breezy  hills 
Bestirred  the  air  with  perfumed  thrills, 
And  mystic  voices  tried  to  tell 
What  dewy  benedictions  fell 
Through  all  the  silent  hours  of  night. 
The  bend  of  eastern  sky  grew  light 
With  mystic  rays  of  silver-green, 
Soon  vanished  in  a  violet  sheen  ; 
And  this  fair,  mystic  phantom  flew 
Before  a  potent  golden  hue. 


164  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

The  maiden  idly  wandered  over 

Banks  of  moss  and  beds  of  clover, 

Pausing  as  she  strolled  along 

To  hear  the  sweetest  wildwood  song, 

Or  watch  the  butterfly  whose  flight 

From  meadow  bloom  to  forest  flower 

Enticed  her  pleasure-searching  sight 

With  Nature's  happiest  power. 

She  passed  along  a  forest  trail 

'Neath  trees  that  thrilled  with  morning  life ; 

Above  the  song-birds'  concert  strife 

She  heard  the  blithesome  call  of  quail, 

The  scornful  cry  of  blue-jay  dressed 

In  splendid  robes,  with  lordly  crest. 

'Twas  joy  to  see,  'twas  joy  to  hear, 

'Twas  joy  to  wander  without  fear. 

O  lightsome  heart !     O  peaceful  breast ! 

Where  yet  no  passion  brought  unrest  I 

Gayly  she  tripped,  unconscious  all 

That  any  danger  might  befall. 

But  suddenly  the  song-birds  fled 

From  all  the  branches  overhead. 

Then  on  her  startled  hearing  rang 

The  sharp  and  vengeful  bow-string's  twang 

A  whizz — a  yell — a  writhing  mass 

Fell  on  the  path  she  thought  to  pass — 

A  tawny  panther  from  whose  side 

An  arrow  drained  the  living  tide. 

With  shrinking  eyes  she  saw  the  beast 

Rolling  in  agony,  until 

At  last  the  sensate  struggles  ceased, 

And  all  that  mighty  frame  was  still. 

While  she  was  wondering  whose  keen  sight 


166  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

So  well  had  sped  the  arrow's  flight, 

A  tall  young  brave  stepped  from  the  wood 

And  silently  before  her  stood. 

He  gazed  enraptured  on  her  face, 

Her  womanly  charms,  her  youthful  grace ; 

And  when  he  spoke,  it  was  to  tell 

The  flattering  things  that  win  so  well. 

She  saw  that  he  was  one  who  fought 

Against  her  father's  tribe,  but  naught 

Availed  that  knowledge  for  defense 

Against  his  passionate  eloquence, 

And  ere  they  parted  on  that  morn 

Within  her  breast  young  Love  was  born.  ' 

They  met  again,  and  many  times, 

As  young  hearts  have  in  many  climes. 

At  last,  upon  a  starry  night, 

Unable  longer  to  resist, 

She  gave  up  all  and  took  her  flight 

And  went  with  him  where  he  might  list. 

While  they  had  lingered  in  their  love, 

The  stars  had  swiftly  marched  above — 

And  thus  it  chanced  that  on  their  way 

They  met  the  heralds  of  the  day. 

Her  lover  led  through  forests  dim, 

He  brought  her  to  the  river  bank  ; 

His  light  canoe,  all  tight  and  trim, 

He  drew  from  grasses  tall  and  rank. 

They  pushed  away  ;  no  time  was  lost, 

And  soon  the  placid  stream  was  crossed. 

Again  they  plunged  among  the  trees. 

Although  no  doubt  had  power  to  seize 

Upon  the  maiden's  heart,  she  feared 

And  wondered  that  her  brave  appeared 


SWEET  WATER.  167 

To  lose  his  wonted  care  ;  she  knew 
'Twas  strange  to  leave  their  tried  canoe, 
But  went,  unquestioning,  and  thought 
His  deeds  would  bring  her  fears  to  naught. 
To  her  astonishment,  he  led 
Her  from  the  forest's  sheltering  spread 
Into  a  small  and  star-lit  glade, 
And,  turning  to  her,  softly  bade 
Her  fear  not,  for  a  warlike  band 
Encompassed  them  on  every  hand. 
They  were  her  lover's  friends  in  arms, 
The  war  paint  on  their  faces  filled 
Her  faithful  breast  with  wild  alarms, 
For  she  herself  would  fain  be  killed 
A  thousand  times  than  that  her  flight 
Should  lead  her  own  to  death  that  night. 
She  clasped  his  arm  with  trembling  hand, 
And  lifted  to  his  bold  black  eyes 
A  look  he  could  but  ill  withstand — 
Love's  first  reproach,  doubt's  first  surmise. 
From  cold,  white  lips  her  question  broke  : 
"  Why  do  we  thus  these  warriors  meet 
So  near  the  lodges  of  my  folk  ? 
Why  do  you  thus  their  presence  greet  ?" 
Before  his  tongue  could  make  reply, 
A  burly  warrior,  standing  by, 
Strode  forward,  and,  with  murderous  look, 
His  tomahawk  before  her  shook, 
And  fiercely  said  :  "  I  am  Two  Bear; 
Great  chief  am  I !     'Tis  sweet  to  tear 
The  craven  hearts  and  drink  the  blood 
Of  Two  Bear's  foes  ;  a  big  red  flood 
Shall  flow  from  coward  Sioux,  this  morn 


168  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Their  scalps  Ojibway  spears  adorn. 

Why  have  you  kept  us  waiting  here  ? 

Behold,  the  sun  will  soon  appear, 

The  hour  is  late,  the  good  time  flies, 

And  vengeance  still  unsated  cries  ! 

Come,"  growled  the  brute,  and  clutched  her  wrist, 

And  gave  it  rough  and  cruel  twist ; 

"  Come,  lead  us  now,  with  noiseless  creep, 

To  where  thy  Sioux  dogs  lie  in  sleep." 

Like  thunderbolt  from  storm-filled  air, 

The  young  brave  sprang  upon  Two  Bear ; 

With  mighty  grasp  he  whirled  him  'round 

And  threw  him  fiercely  to  the  ground. 

"  Dog  thou,"  he  cried ;  "  and  darest  thou  pain 

This  beauty  with  thy  paws  again 

I'll  kill  thee,  ponderous  as  thou  art !  " 

Black  with  the  fury  in  his  heart, 

The  bully  rose,  and  toward  the  young 

And  fearless  champion  wildly  flung 

His  tomahawk,  which,  lightly  dodged, 

Swung  through  the  hissing  air  and  lodged 

Deep  in  the  nearest  cottonwood. 

Brief  were  the  moments  while  they  stood 

And  glared  into  each  other's  eyes. 

Then  forward  leaped,  with  fearful  cries, 

And  joined  in  combat,  hand  to  hand. 

With  whirlwind  sweep  their  knives  outflashed, 

And  lightning  followed  when  they  clashed. 

The  maiden  stood  in  dumb  surprise, 

All  heedless  of  the  warrior  band ; 

Too  anxious  for  her  lover's  fate 

To  think  upon  his  present  state, 

Or  care  what  stir  she  might  create. 


SWEET  WATER.  169 

Sternly  the  conflict  raged.     At  length, 

Although  he  fought  with  giant  strength, 

The  youthful  brave  was  overpowered. 

He  fell ;  a  crushing  knee  was  pressed 

Upon  his  form,  his  foeman  towered 

A  moment  o'er  him,  then  his  breast 

Received  the  cruel,  plunging  knife. 

The  crimson  flood  gushed  forth ;  a  thrill 

Of  anguish  swept  his  features  o'er ; 

The  light  departed  ;  mortal  strife 

Would  stir  the  living  pulse  no  more 

Within  that  ghastly  form  so  still ! 

Her  lover's  awful  death  awoke 

The  maiden  from  her  flight-born  trance. 

She  flashed  around  one  fearful  glance — 

The  peril  of  her  people  broke 

Upon  her  mind ;  she  must  be  brave, 

For  she  alone  could  hope  to  save. 

She  saw  with  horror  and  alarm 

Two  Bear  approach  herself  to  claim 

As  prize  for  his  victorious  arm  ; 

His  wicked  face  was  all  aflame. 

'Twas  worse  than  death  for  her  to  stay, 

And  she  must  warn  those  far  away. 

No  time  was  her's  for  useless  grief. 

She  turned,  and  like  a  storm-chased  leaf, 

Fled  swiftly  toward  the  river  bank. 

Alas  !     A  dozen  leaps  were  all. 

The  murderous  tomahawk  was  thrown 

And  cleft  her  brain.     With  one  low  moan, 

Upon  her  green  death-bed  she  sank. 

But  simultaneous  with  her  fall 

A  wild  Dahkotah  war-whoop  rang 


170  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

From  out  the  forest,  and  a  wall 

Of  warriors  rose  on  every  hand. 

With  common  stroke  their  bow-strings'  twang 

Sounded  death  to  that  fated  band. 

The  avengers  closed  upon  their  foe, 

And  ere  they  ceased  the  conflict  wild, 

Laid  every  feathered  top-knot  low ; 

In  heaps  Ojibway  braves  were  piled. 

When  all  the  last  red  scalps  were  torn 

They  turned  to  find  the  murdered  maid. 

All  in  her  tribe  would  rise  and  mourn 

When  dead  before  them  she  was  laid. 

But  strange  event !     With  wondering  tone, 

Each  asked  of  each  where  she  had  flown. 

In  vain  they  searched.     They  found  her  not ; 

But  there,  upon  the  very  spot 

Where  she  had  fallen,  a  fountain  gushed 

Which  never  man  had  seen  before. 

They  gathered  round  with  breathing  hushed 

And  gazed,  and  wondered  more  and  more. 

While  every  grass-blade  growing  near 

Was  red  and  matted  thick  with  gore, 

The  overflow  was  sweet  and  clear ; 

The  bosom  of  the  bubbling  spring 

Was  spotless  as  a  spirit's  wing. 

With  single  voice  they  all  proclaimed 

The  magic  spot  a  sacred  place. 

The  vanished  girl  was  thenceforth  named 

"  Sweet  Water,"  and  to  see  her  face 

Dahkotah  hearts  will  journey  here 

Till  from  the  earth  they  disappear ; 

And  when  they  die,  their  souls  shall  know 

The  secret  of  its  crystal  flow. 


BOCK  GATEWAY,  LAKE  PEPIN. 


Death  of  Winona. 

DOWN  the  broad  Ha-Ha  Wdk-pal  the  band  took 
their  way  to  the  Games  at  Ke6za, 

While  the  swift-footed  hunters  by  land  ran  the 
shores  for  the  elk  and  the  bison. 

Like  magds  2  ride  the  birchen  canoes  on  the  breast 
of  the  dark,  winding  river, 

By  the  willow-fringed  island  they  cruise,  by  the 
grassy  hills  green  to  their  summits  ; 

By  the  lofty  bluffs  hooded  with  oaks  that  darken 
the  deep  with  their  shadows  ; 

And  bright  in  the  sun  gleam  the  strokes  of  the 
oars  in  the  hands  of  the  women. 

With  the  band  went  Winona.  The  oar  plied  the 
maid  with  the  skill  of  a  hunter. 

They  tarried  a  time  on  the  shore  of  Remnica — the 
Lake  of  the  Mountains.3 

There  the  fleet  hunters  followed  the  deer,  and  the 
thorny  pahin*  for  the  women. 

From  the  tees  rose  the  smoke  of  good  cheer,  curl 
ing  blue  through  the  tops  of  the  maples, 

Near  the  foot  of  a  cliff  that  arose,  like  the  battle- 
scarred  walls  of  a  castle, 

Up-towering,  in  rugged  repose,  to  a  dizzy  height 
over  the  waters. 


172  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

But  the  man-wolf  still  followed  his  prey,  and  the 

step-mother  ruled  in  the  teepee  ; 
Her  will  must  Winona  obey,  by  the  custom  and 

law  of  Dakotas. 
The  gifts  to  the  teepee  were  brought — the  blankets 

and  beads  of  the  White  men, 
And  Winona,  the  orphaned,  was  bought  by  the 

crafty,  relentless  Tamd6ka. 

In  the  Spring-time  of  life,  in  the  flush  of  the  glad 
some  mid-May  days  of  Summer, 
When  the  bobolink  sang  and  the  thrush,  and  the 

red  robin  chirped  in  the  branches, 
To  the  tent  of  the  brave  must  she  go ;  she  must 

kindle  the  fire  in  his  teepee  ; 
She  must  sit  in  the  lodge  of  her  foe,  as  a  slave  at 

the  feet  of  her  master. 
Alas  for  her  waiting  !  the  wings  of  the  East-wind 

have  brought  her  no  tidings  ; 
On  the  meadow  the  meadow-lark  sings,  but  sad  is 

her  song  to  Winona, 
For   the   glad   warbler's   melody   brings   but   the 

memory  of  voices  departed. 
The  Day-Spirit  walked  in  the  west  to  his  lodge  in 

the  land  of  the  shadows  ; 

His  shining  face  gleamed  on  the  crest  of  the  oak- 
hooded  hills  and  the  mountains, 
And  the  meadow-lark  hied  to  her  nest,  and  the 

mottled  owl  peeped  from  her  cover. 
But  hark  !  from  the  teepees  a  cry !  Hear  the  shouts 

of  the  hurrying  warriors  ! 
Are  the  feet  of  the  enemy  nigh, — of  the  crafty  and 

cruel  Ojibways  ? 


THE  DEATH  OF  WINONA.  173 

Nay ;  look  ! — on  the  dizzy  cliff  high — on  the  brink 

of  the  cliff  stands  Winona  ! 
Her  sad  face  up-turned  to  the  sky.     Hark !  I  hear 

the  wild  wail  of  her  death-song  : 

"  My  Father's  Spirit,  look  down,  look  down— 
From  your  hunting  grounds  in  the  shining  skies ; 
Behold,  for  the  light  of  my  heart  is  gone  ; 
The  light  is  gone  and  Winona  dies. 

"  I  looked  to  the  East,  but  I  saw  no  star ; 
The  face  of  my  White  Chief  was  turned  away. 
I  harked  for  his  footsteps  in  vain  ;  afar 
His  bark  sailed  over  the  Sunrise-sea. 

"  Long  have  I  watched  till  my  heart  is  cold  ; 
In  my  breast  it  is  heavy  and  cold  as  a  stone. 
No  more  shall  Winona  his  face  behold, 
And  the  robin  that  sang  in  her  heart  is  gone. 

"  Shall  I  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  treacherous  brave  ? 
On  his  hateful  couch  shall  Winona  lie  ? 
Shall  she  kindle  his  fire  like  a  coward  slave  ? 
No  ! — a  warrior's  daughter  can  bravely  die. 

"  My  Father's  Spirit,  look  down,  look  down — 
From  your  hunting-grounds  in  the  shining  skies ; 
Behold,  for  the  light  in  my  heart  is  gone  ; 
The  light  is  gone  and  Winona  dies." 

Swift  the  strong  hunters  climbed  as  she  sang,  and 
the  foremost  of  all  was  Tamd6ka  ; 

From  crag  to  crag  upward  he  sprang;  like  a 
panther  he  leaped  to  the  summit. 


174  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

Too  late  ! — on  the  brave  as  lie  crept  turned  the 
maid  in  her  scorn  and  defiance  ; 

Then  swift  from  the  dizzy  height  leaped.  Like  a 
brant  arrow-pierced  in  mid-heaven, 

Down  whirling  and  fluttering  she  fell,  and  head 
long  plunged  into  the  waters. 

Forever  she  sank  mid  the  wail,  and  the  wild 
lamentation  of  women. 

Her  lone  spirit  evermore  dwells  in  the  depths  of 
the  Lake  of  the  Mountains, 

And  the  lofty  cliff  evermore  tells  to  the  years  as 
they  pass  her  sad  story.5 

In  the  silence  of  sorrow  the  night  o'er  the  earth 

spread  her  wide,  sable  pinions  ; 
And  the  stars  hid  their  faces ;  and  light  on  the 

lake  fell  the  tears  of  the  spirits. 
As  her  sad  sisters  watched  on  the  shore  for  her 

spirit  to  rise  from  the  waters, 
They  heard  the  swift  dip  of  an  oar,  and  a  boat 

they  beheld  like  a  shadow, 
Gliding   down   through   the   night   in   the   gray, 

gloaming  mists  on  the  face  of  the  waters. 
'Twas  the  bark  of  DuLuth  on  his  way  from  the 

Falls  to  the  Games  at  Ketiza. 


The  Legend  of  the  Moccasin  Flower. 


MINNEOPA  was  a  maiden 

Fleet  of  foot  and  fond  of  sport, 
She,  her  mother's  only  daughter, 

Cared  not  for  the  harsh  report 
That  she  left  the  woman's  labor 

To  her  only  parent,  while 
With  the  hunt  and  ramble  busied, 

Oft  she  wandered  many  a  mile. 

Scarce  her  cousins  could  excel  her 

In  the  bending  of  the  bow, 
Though  they  were  so  tall  and  manly, 

With  them  hunting  she  would  go. 
She  had  shot  the  timid  rabbit, 

With  her  arrows  swift  and  keen, 
Now  she  wished  to  slay  the  red-deer 

As  the  hunters  she  had  seen. 

Beautiful  she  was,  and  graceful, 

Like  the  young  fawn  she  pursued, 

Gayly  decked  with  beads  and  wampum, 
For  her  mother  fond  endured 


176  INDIAN  LEGENDS. 

With  great  worth  this  only  daughter ; 

As  her  sire  a  chief  had  been, 
E'en  the  boyish  pranks  and  pastime 

For  her  no  reproof  could  win. 

Tiny  moccasins,  so  dainty, 

Well  her  little  feet  encased, 
And  her  long  braids  streamed  behind  her 

As  down  woodland  paths  she  raced. 
"  I  will  go  alone  and  find  them, 

Then  the  red-deer  I  will  kill." 
So  she  went,  for  all  she  minded 

Was  her  own  caprice  and  will. 

Warm  and  smoky  Indian  summer 

Lent  the  earth  a  russet  glow, 
And  the  hazel  nuts  dropped  softly 

'Mong  the  rustling  leaves  below. 
Far  she  wandered,  but  no  creature 

Caught  her  ear  or  crossed  her  path, 
Save  the  blue-jay  in  the  treetop 

Screaming  oft  in  seeming  wrath. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  roaring, 

Crackling  sound.     In  sickening  dread 
Looked  and  saw  the  forest  burning 

With  a  lurid  flame  and  red. 
Fast  she  flew ;  the  flames  spread  faster, 

Caught  her  in  their  fierce  embrace  ; 
Minneopa,  never,  never, 

Will  you  now  the  wild  deer  chase. 

Ashes  gray  and  failing  cinders 
Made  for  her  a  lonely  grave. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  MOCCASIN  FLOWER.    177 

But  with  springtime  came  the  verdure, 
And  the  kindly  grasses  waved  ; 

Peeping  up  came  gorgeous  blossoms, 
Never  seen  on  earth  before, 

Shaped  and  colored  like  the  moccasins 
That  the  Indian  maiden  wore. 

Some  there  were  of  heavenly  coloring, 

Such  as  clouds  at  sunset  wear, 
White  and  rosy  ;  they  were  emblems 

Of  the  new  ones  waiting  where 
In  the  spirit  land  she  wanders 

With  her  father  strong  and  brave  ; 
And  the  mother,  when  she  saw  them, 

Knew  they  marked  her  daughter's  grave. 

IDA  SEXTON  SEARLS. 


THE  END. 


NOTES 


WINONA. 

1  The  name  given  by  the  Dakotas  to  the  first-born,  if  a 
female. 

2  Tipi,  skin  tent. 

3  An  edible  root  found  on  the  prairies. 

4  The  Crow  Indians,  hereditary  foes  of  the  Dakotas,  call  them 
selves  Absaraka,  which  means  crow  in  their  language. 

5  Each  Indian  guest  at  a  banquet  carries  with  him  his  own 
wooden  bowl  and  spoon. 

6  Many  Indians  believe  in  the  transmigration  of  souls,  and 
some  of  them  profess  to  remember  previous  states  of  existence. 

7  A  renowned  chief,  formerly  living  on  Lake  Pepin. 

8  A  supernatural  monster  inhabiting  the  larger  rivers  and 
lakes,  and  hereditary  foe  of  the  Thunder  Bird. 

9  The  Falls  of  St.  Anthony. 

10  The  name  given  to  a  first-born,  if  a  male.    Upon  becoming 
a  warrior  or  performing  some  feat  of  arms,  the  youth  is  per 
mitted  to  select  another  name. 

11  Hereditary  foe  of  the  Dakotas. 

12  The  Dakotas  formerly  disposed  of  their  dead  by  fastening 
them  to  the  branches  of  trees  or  to  rude  platforms.     This  is 
still  practiced  to  some  extent. 

13  The  Indians  paint  and  adorn  a  body  before  sepulture. 

HIAWATHA. 

1  "  On  the  mountains  of  the  prairie."     (Mt.   Catlin,   etc.) 
Located  near  the  boundary  between  Minnesota  and  Dakota, 
near  the  head  waters  of  the  Mississippi. 

2  This  quarry,  located  near  the  hills  or  mountains,  was  very 
famous    among  the  Indians,   who  by  common  consent  had 


180  NOTES. 

made  the  adjacent  territory  neutral  ground.  Here  they  came 
and  provided  themselves  with  pipes,  very  necessary  to  the  In 
dian's  happiness.  To  apply  the  stone  to  any  other  use  than 
that  of  pipe-making  would  have  been  sacrilege  in  the  native's 
mind.  From  similarity  in  color,  they  even  fancied  it  to  have 
been  made,  at  the  great  deluge,  from  the  flesh  of  the  perish 
ing  Indian. 

3  In  Northern  Pennsylvania,  on  the  Susquehanna  River,  the 
scene  of  a  terrible  massacre  by  the  Indians  and  Tories  in  1778. 
Campbell  wrote  Gertrude  of  Wyoming  on  the  incidents  of  that 
July  5th. 

4  A  section  of  Alabama,  taking  its  name  from  the  chief 
defeated  by  De  Soto  in  154o. 

' '  The  Falls  of  Minnehaha. ' '  (The  Scenery  about  Fort  Snell- 
ing,  etc.) 

THE  DESCENDING  STAR. 

This  legend  is  related  by  Kah-ge-ga-gah-bawh,  chief  of  the 
Ojibway  Nation,  or  Chippewas,  in  his  "  Traditional  History  of 
the  O  jib  way  Nation"  purporting  to  be  the  first  volume  of 
Indian  history  written  by  an  Indian.  In  common  with  his  forest 
brethren,  he  "  was  brought  up  in  the  woods."  Twenty  months 
passed  in  a  school  in  Illinois  constituted  the  sum-total  of  his 
schooling.  But  he  had  learned  the  traditions  of  his  people,  as 
was  customary,  from  the  lips  of  the  chief,  his  father. 

Through  the  stilted  language  of  this  somewhat  unlettered 
Indian  we  catch  faint  glimpses  of  the  poetic  beauty  with  which 
the  tradition  glowed  when  actually  related  at  the  wigwam 
door.  An  attempt  has  been  made  to  retain  and  crystallize  this 
poetic  beauty  in  the  preceding  metrical  version  of  the  Indian 
legend. 

THE  TRAILING  ARBUTUS. 

A  new  version  of  the  beautiful  and  popular  legend  of  the 
first  spring  flower,  making  the  visitant  to  the  old  man's  lodge 
a  maiden,  and  identifying  the  blossom  as  the  trailing  arbutus, 
was  told  by  Hon.  C.  L.  Belknap  of  Michigan  before  the  Folk- 
Lore  Society  in  Washington,  Dec.,  1891. 

THE  SEA-GULL. 

1  Kay-oshk  is  the  Ojibway  name  for  the  sea-gull. 

2  Gitchee — great, —  Gumee — sea    or    lake, — Lake    Superior 


NOTES.  181 

also  often  called  Ochipwe  Gitchee  Gumee,  Great  Lake  (or  sea) 
of  the  O  jib  ways. 

3  Ne-me-Sh6mis — my  grandfather.      "  In  the  days    of  my 
grandfather"  is  the  O  jib  way's  preface  to  all  his  traditions  and 
legends. 

4  Waub — white — 0-jeeg — fisher  (a  furred  animal).      White 
Fisher  was  the  name  of  a  noted  O  jib  way  chief  who  lived  on 
the  south  shore  of  Lake  Superior  many  years  ago.    School- 
craft  married  one  of  his  descendants. 

6  Ma-kwa  or  mush-kwa — the  bear. 

6  The  Te-ke-n&h-gun  is  a  board  upon  one  side  of  which  a  sort 
of  basket  is  fastened  or  woven  with  thongs  of  skin  or  strips  of 
cloth.    In  this  the  babe  is  placed  and  the  mother  carries  it  on 
her  back.    In  the  wigwam  the  tekendgun  is  often  suspended 
by  a  cord  to  the  lodge-poles  and  the  mother  swings  her  babe 
in  it. 

7  Wabose  (or   Wabos) — the  rabbit.     Pendy,  the  pheasant. 
At  certain  seasons  the  pheasant  drums  with  his  wings. 

8  Kaug,  the  porcupine.     Renew,  the  war-eagle. 

9  Ka-be-bon-ik-ka  is  the  god  of  storms,  thunder,  lightning, 
etc.    His   home  is  on  Thunder-Cap  at  Thunder-Bay,  Lake 
Superior.    By  his  magic  the  giant  that  lies  on  the  mountain 
was  turned  to  stone.    He  always  sends  warnings  before  he 
finally  sends  the  severe  cold  of  winter,  in  order  to  give  all 
creatures  time  to  prepare  for  it. 

10  Eew&ydin)  or  Eewaytin,  is  the  North  wind  or  Northwest 
wind. 

11  Algonkin  is  the  general  name  applied  to  all  tribes  that 
speak  the  Ojibway  language  or  dialects  of  it. 

12  This  is  the  favorite  "  love-broth  "  of  the  Ojibway  squaws. 
The  warrior  who  drinks  it  immediately  falls  desperately  in 
love  with  the  woman  who  gives  it  to  him.     Various  tricks  are 
devised  to  conceal  the  nature  of  the  "medicine"  and  to  in 
duce  the  warrior  to  drink  it  ;  but  when  it  is  mixed  with  a  liberal 
quantity  of  "fire-water"  it  is  considered  irresistible. 

13  Translation :    Woe-is-me !    Woe-is-me ! 

Great  Spirit,  behold  me ! 

Look,  Father;  have  pity  upon  me! 

Woe-is-me !    Woe-is-me ! 

14  Snow-storms  from  the  Northwest. 


182  NOTES. 

15  The  Ojibways,   like  the  Dakotas,  call  the  Via  Lactea 
(Milky  Way)  the  Pathway  of  the  Spirits. 

16  Shinge-bis,  the  diver,  is  the  only  water-fowl  that  remains 
about  Lake  Superior  all  winter. 

17  Waub-ese — the  white  swan. 

18  Pe-boan,  Winter,  is  represented  as  an  old  man  with  long 
white  hair  and  beard. 

19  Segun  is  Spring  (or  Summer).     This  beautiful  allegory  has 
been  "  done  into  verse  "  by  Longfellow  in  Hiawatha.    Long 
fellow  evidently  took  his   version  from  Schoolcraft.     I  took 
mine  originally  from  the  lips  of  Pah-go-nay-gie-shiek—"  Hole- 
in-the-day  "—(the  elder),  in  his  day  head-chief  of  the  Ojibways. 
I  afterward  submitted  it  to  Gitche  Shabdsh-Konk,  head-chief 
of  theMisse-sah-ga-e-gun — (Mille  Lac's  band  of  Ojibways),  who 
pronounced  it  correct. 

"  Hole-in-the-day,"  although  sanctioned  by  years  of  unchal 
lenged  use,  is  a  bad  translation  of  Pah-go-nay-gie-shiek,  which 
means  a  clear  spot  in  the  sky. 

He  was  a  very  intelligent  man  ;  had  been  in  Washington 
several  times  on  business  connected  with  his  people,  and  was 
always  shrewd  enough  to  look  out  for  himself  in  all  his  treaties 
and  transactions  with  the  Government.  He  stood  six  feet  two 
inches  in  his  moccasins,  was  well-proportioned,  and  had  a  re 
markably  fine  face.  He  had  a  nickname— Que-we-zdnc  (Little 
Boy)— by  which  he  was  familiarly  called  by  his  people. 

The  Pillagers  — Nah-kdnd-tway-we-nin-ni-wak  — who  live 
about  Leech  Lake  (Kah-sah-gah-squah-g-me-cock)  were  op 
posed  to  Pa-go-nay-gie-shiek,  but  he  compelled  them  through 
fear  to  recognize  him  as  Head-Chief.  At  the  time  of  the 
"  Sioux  outbreak  "  in  1862  "  Hold-in-the-day  "  fora  time  ap 
parently  meditated  an  alliance  with  the  Po-dh-nuck  (Dakotas) 
and  war  upon  the  whites.  The  Pillagers  and  some  other 
bands  urged  him  strongly  to  this  course,  and  his  supremacy  as 
head-chief  was  threatened  unless  he  complied.  Messengers 
from  the  Dakotas  were  undoubtedly  received  by  him,  and  he, 
for  a  time  at  least,  led  the  Dakotas  to  believe  that  their  heredi 
tary  enemies,  the  Ojibways,  would  bury  the  hatchet  and  join 
them  in  a  war  of  extermination  against  the  whites.  "  Hole-in- 
the-day,"  with  a  band  of  his  warriors,  appeared  opposite  Fort 
Blpley  (situated  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Mississippi  River 
between  Little  Falls  and  Crow  Wing),  and  assumed  a  threaten 
ing  attitude  toward  the  fort,  then  garrisoned  by  volunteer 


NOTES.  183 

troops.  The  soldiers  were  drawn  up  on  the  right  bank  and 
"  Hole-in-the-day "  and  his  warriors  on  the  left.  A  little 
speech-making  settled  the  matter  for  the  time  being  and  very 
soon  thereafter  a  new  treaty  was  made  with  "  Hole-in-the-day  " 
and  his  head  men,  by  which  their  friendship  and  allegiance 
were  secured  to  the  whites.  It  was  claimed  by  the  Pillagers 
that  "  Hole-in-the-day"  seized  the  occasion  to  profit  personally 
in  his  negotiations  with  the  agents  of  the  Government. 

In  1867  "  Hole-in-the-day  "  took  "  another  wife."  He 
married  Helen  McCarty,  a  white  woman,  in  Washington,  D.  C., 
and  took  her  to  his  home  at  Gull  Lake  (Ka-ga-ya-skunc-cock) 
literally,  plenty  of  little  gulls. 

She  bore  him  a  son  who  is  known  as  Joseph  H.  Woodbury, 
and  now  (1891)  resides  in  the  city  of  Minneapolis.  His  mar 
riage  with  a  white  woman  increased  the  hatred  of  the  Pillagers, 
and  they  shot  him  from  ambush  and  killed  him  near  Ninge-td- 
we-de-gud-yonk—Crow  Wing— on  the  27th  day  of  June,  1868. 

At  the  time  of  his  death,  "  Hole-in-the-day  "  was  only  thirty- 
seven  years  old,  but  had  been  recognized  as  Head-Chief  for  a 
long  time.  He  could  speak  some  English,  and  was  far  above 
the  average  of  white  men  in  native  shrewdness  and  intelligence. 
He  was  thoroughly  posted  in  the  traditions  and  legends  of  his 
people. 

The  Ojibways  have  for  many  years  been  cursed  by  contact 
with  the  worst  elements  of  the  whites,  and  seem  to  have  adopt 
ed  the  vices  rather  than  the  virtues  of  civilization.  I  once 
spoke  of  this  to  "Hole-in-the-day."  His  reply  was  terse  and 
truthful — "  Madge  tche-mo-ko-mon,  mddge  a-nische-ndbe  : 
menoge  tche-mo-ko-mon,  meno  a-nische-ndbe. — Bad  white  men, 
bad  Indians  :  good  white  men,  good  Indians." 

20  yah— look,  see.     Nashke— behold. 

21  Kee-zis — the  sun, — the  father  of  life.      Waubunong — or 
Waub-6-nong — is  the  White  Land  or  Land  of  Light, — the  Sun 
rise,  the  East. 

22  The  Bridge  of  Stars  spans  the  vast  sea  of  the  skies,  and  the 
sun  and  moon  walk  over  on  it. 

23  The  Miscodeed  is  a  small  white  flower  with  a  pink  border. 
It  is  the  earliest  blooming  wild  flower  on  the  shores  of  Lake 
Superior,  and  belongs  to  the  crocus  family. 

24  The  Ne-be-naw-baigs,   are  Water-spirits  ;  they  dwell  in 
caverns  in  the  depths  of  the  lake,  and  in  some  respects  resemble 
the  Unktehee  of  the  Dakotas. 


184  NOTES. 

25  Ogema,  Chief,— Oge-md-kwd— female  Chief.  Among  the 
Algonkin  tribes  women  are  sometimes  made  chiefs.  Net-no- 
kwa,  who  adopted  Tanner  as  her  son,  was  Oge-md-kwd  of  a 
band  of  Ottawas.  See  John  Tanner's  Narrative,  p.  36. 

2ij  The  "  Bridge  of  Souls  "  leads  from  the  earth  over  dark  and 
stormy  waters  to  the  spirit-land.  The  "  Dark  River  "  seems  to 
have  been  a  part  of  the  superstitions  of  all  nations. 

27  The  Jossakeeds  of  the  Ojibways  are  soothsayers  who  are 
able,  by  the  aid  of  spirits,  to  read  the  past  as  well  as  the  future. 

WLTONA. 

Mr.  Gordon  has  taken  for  his  theme  the  love  of  the  beautiful 
maiden  Winona  for  Du  Luth  the  explorer.  He  leaves  her  to 
continue  his  travels,  and  she,  driven  to  desperation  at  the 
thought  of  marriage  with  Tauedoka,  whom  she  loathes,  takes 
her  life. 

1  The  Dakota  name  for  the  Mississippi. 

2  Wild  geese. 

3  Lake  Pepin:  by  Hennepin  called  the  Lake  of  Tears.— Called 
by  the  Dakotas  Pein-uee-chah-mday — Lake  of  the  Mountain. 

4  The  rock  from  which  Winona  leaped  was  formerly  perpen 
dicular  to  the  water's  edge  and  she  leaped  into  the  lake.     The 
rock  to-day  is  crumbled  and  the  waters  have  receded  to  some 
distance  from  the  rock.    Winona' s  spirit  is  said  to  still  haunt 
the  lake. 


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